


Death to the Sheep

by Sara Generis (kanadka)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Angst, Bukkake, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Double Penetration, Drugs, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Prostitution, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, Id Fic, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Mental games, Multi, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, Racist Language, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexist Language, Spitroasting, Tattoos, Whump, look guys it is prison okay there are no gentlemen here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 121,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7689238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanadka/pseuds/Sara%20Generis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eduard is caught siphoning a lot of money from the bank account of a very important person with a very good lawyer and is sentenced to ten years. He quickly realises that prison is not for cybercriminals like him - the geeky, nerdy, wimpy sort. How can this sad, sad nerd hope to defend himself in the showers when the heaviest thing he's ever lifted was a computer tower? They'll eat him alive! But if he gives his three big, beefy, dangerous cellmates everything they want, whenever they want it, no matter what, they'll protect him in return. Surely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Came across such a prompt at the Hetalia kink meme - Estonia thrown into prison for cybercrimes and sells himself because he can't defend himself - and thought it was the most brilliant idea ever. Out of the pure sin that was the crux of this fic's raison d'etre was spawned something that perhaps looks a little bit like a plot.
> 
> For precise warnings, **see the fic's tags**. Or you have any other questions about the presence/absence of specific triggers, you're most welcome to contact me [here](http://sarageneris.tumblr.com/ask) and I can verify if they're present. But generally speaking **this is a prison AU fic with copious amounts of sex and dubious amounts of consent and nobody is nice**. Now is a good time to back button if you don't know what id fic is or you're easily offended or triggered, as I _will not_ be tagging individual chapters for each chapter's particular contents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Freedom for the wolves has often meant death to the sheep." -- Isaiah Berlin

He didn't think it was possible to feel worse than he had when, after two weeks of hell, having his private life exposed for the judge, the court, the jurists - everybody in the room (even Katya who thought she knew everything about him, and evidently didn't), the sentence is finally handed down.  
  
The bottom of his stomach drops out of him. A first offence? And he wasn't a threat to public security! How bad is his lawyer, anyway?  
  
_This can't be happening. This can't be happening to me. I'm not the kind of guy who goes to jail._  
  
... but he also isn't the kind of guy who hacked into a politician's accounts and stole their funding, now, is he?  
  
Even if they were already rich, even if they were dirty, even if their money was laundered, even if the money had been gotten by something as awful as mining gold and destroying villages, even if ...  
  
Even if Eduard needed that money more.  
  
Well, Timo says something about sending him letters, or books, or anything he could want.  
  
Katya doesn't even look at him, and that makes him feel ten times worse. For the few seconds he can bear lifting his sorry eyes from the floor and gracing her presence with their gaze, she doesn't look at him.  
  
_That_ is the meaning of guilty, not what the judge said.  
  
But then they walk him through the motions, call up his name (mispronounce the surname - "Tam-sair", _pathetic_ ), strip him in front of the other new inmates and search him _everywhere_ \- and this feels pretty humiliating.  
  
_Check his ass nice an' deep,_ someone calls, and the laughter spreads like brushfire among the crowd, inmates and prison staff alike. To himself, Eduard snorts. Illogical, when would he even have had time to put something up there? The only contraband thing he'd ever want would be a computer to help him hack his way out, if that were possible. No, they'll never let him touch computers again.  
  
But the eyes.  
  
How many were they in the truck? Twenty, thirty?  
  
That makes sixty eyes, watching him. Watching them remove his shirt. His pants. Hands against the wall, legs spread. Watching him. Catcalling.  
  
With a grim set of his lips, Eduard bears it with the best dignity he can muster in such a situation.  
  
_But I'm not the kind of guy who goes to prison. For a very good reason._  
  
It gets worse.  
  
The guard - bulky fellow with fat rosy cheeks and rheumy eyes - sifts through his personal effects. Some he allows, some more he confiscates. Eduard is permitted his wedding ring. The guard says, "You can keep that, too," in reference to the spare cash Eduard had in his pocket. "I'd take it, but with a face like that, you're gonna need it."  
  
"Meaning?" Eduard asks.  
  
The guard gives him a smile and shakes his head with pity. "Fuck, you need all the help you can get," he says.  
  
How bad... _is_ it, exactly? His lawyer hasn't prepared him for much.  
  
With a muttered thanks, he takes the cash and leaves.  
  
After the medical examination and mandatory shower (he tries not to think about how this is likely the last time in ten years he will have privacy in a shower), he is given prison issue clothes. Orange doesn't suit him - orange doesn't suit many people - and it's one more nail in the coffin telling the world exactly what he is: a criminal, an inmate. At least now he sticks out a lot less among the others, for they are all in orange jumpsuits, buttoned to the neck and belted at the waist with a cheap plastic fastener.  
  
The staff member handing out the white undershirts - a tall, heavyset bottle-blond woman in her fifties - takes one look at his chest and gives him a second. "I already have one," Eduard objects.  
  
"Trust me, sugar, you'll wanna start wearing spares," the staff member snaps. She's right about that - a second undershirt makes him look less scrawny.  
  
Eduard is then interviewed by a counsellor - unfortunately, he's sane - and issued an identification card. It's while he overhears his cell allotment being discussed that a large, burly guard comes up to him and says, "Yer phone call. C'mon."  
  
When he doesn't stand, the staff member repeats gruffly, "The fuck's wrong wit' cher hearing, yer goddamn phone call. Get to yer fuckin' feet," and kicks him in the shins.  
  
He goes with the man, but he doesn't call anybody.  
  
He could call Timo.  
  
...No, he doesn't feel like hearing about how it 'really wouldn't be all that bad' and 'cheer up, Ed!' because it's already bad and growing steadily worse.  
  
He could call Katya.  
  
Oh no. No, he can't call Katya.  
  
The thought alone makes him so miserable that he pays the least attention possible to induction participation, where they tell them all about the prison and its rules.  
  
Then they are driven to the penitentiary main building and marched through the labyrinth of cells.  
  
Walls of them. Floors of them.  
  
If he thought sixty eyes on him were bad, he hadn't considered the prospect of _so many more_. When did the prisons become so overcrowded? Four to a cell, are they mad? He feels violated by the eyes alone, and the sound that accompanies them is nothing short of deafening - leers and jeers and hoots and hollers and it's all directed towards him.  
  
Nobody else seems to be the recipient of them nearly as much as he is, but then again, the other new inmates aren't like Eduard. They are large, they are tattooed, they are bearded or bald or Black or any combination of the above at the same time and they don't look so out of place in prison and nobody gives them much of a second glance...  
  
But Eduard is slight, and slender, and as little as he has been sleeping lately, the dark circles under his eyes don't hide the baby-face.  
  
"Aw, lookit the pretty little thing! What are ya, sixteen?"  
  
"Honey don't know jack _shit._ "  
  
"Closest to a chick you can get -"  
  
"- hey, bitch, nice ass, gotta tight hole?"  
  
\- and so it goes on -  
  
"Baby doin' his lil' turn on the _catwalk!_ "  
  
"Whassa matter, hon, you hard of hearin'?"  
  
"I think he's a stuck up little bitch is what, I think someone oughta teach him some fuckin' manners -"  
  
"I gotcher manners _right here_ , you can suck 'em down dry -"  
  
\- and on -  
  
"Gonna fuck that prissy little grin right off his face -"  
  
"Bitch, you'll wish you was mine, 'cos _mmm_ , what they gon' do to you -"  
  
"Hey, princess! Hey, I'm talkin' to you, you fuckin' look at me when I talk to you -"  
  
_\- and on._  
  
Where is his cell, at the endmost hall in this penitentiary!? Are they trying to terrify him? _Because it's working!_  
  
By the time they stop for him, he is the last of the new inmates. They're in front of a cell already occupied with three others. The guards unlock the door and the rest of the hall falls into a hush and oooohs.  
  
"Oh they gon' rip you in two, sweetheart," says someone from a nearby cell.  
  
"Y'see the Russian one?" says another. "That's bad luck, boy. He fuckin' _crazy_."  
  
The guards shove him into the cell, unlock his wrists, and shut the door behind him.  
  
Eduard takes a good, long look at his cellmates.  
  
And that's when he feels truly awful, because they're gigantic, they're stacked, they're muscular and tall and broad as the side of a barn and imposing, and they all glare at him like he doesn't belong.  
  
Well, he _doesn't_ belong!  
  
For a moment, Eduard says nothing and stares back. He waits until he is certain his voice won't crack through fear. Only then does he ask quietly, "Which beds are taken?"  
  
The three men in his cell look at him and say nothing.  
  
So he musters up the courage to walk over to the bottom bunk on the left side. "This one?"  
  
"Is _mine_ ," says the large fellow with the spiked hair.  
  
Eduard nods. "And this one?" he asks, pointing to the bunk above it.  
  
"Mine," growls the large fellow with the crew cut and the glasses. "An' dontcha dare _touch_ m' goddamn shit."  
  
Okay, he thinks. He makes his way over to the right side. "So yours is ...?" he asks the large fellow with the messy hair, so bright blond it's almost white.  
  
This man smiles. "Both are mine," he says sweetly, in a strong Slavic accent. Eduard assumes this is the Russian the inmates in the hall had mentioned.  
  
Like the other two, he's giant.  
  
Why is he _smiling_.  
  
_They're gonna rip you in two, sweetheart._  
  
And then his new cellmate leans in closer, and smiles wider. "If your behaviour is good, I may permit you, perhaps, to have the floor."  
  
It takes all Eduard's strength not to betray his ire, or indeed, any emotion at all, as he takes a seat on the floor, his back to the cold cell wall.  
  
_I shouldn't be here,_ he thinks, _this is a bad dream,_ but he doesn't wake. Nor does he sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

A night spent on the floor leaves him with an ache and soreness he hasn't felt since his university days, when he spent the nights in the computer lab, catching naps on piles of books or the keyboard. Breakfast is at 8am, and they are led out in a line to the cafeteria.  
  
There isn't much choice in breakfast. Porridge, over-cooked and dry, and slopped in a bowl from the staff behind the counters. Nobody else says thank you, so Eduard doesn't either, but he's grateful for the warmth of something in his belly even if it isn't anywhere near as tasty as home. Katyush' could make _toast_ seem like a five-diamond deal.  
  
Eduard wonders whether Katya's thinking of him, and then feels guilty all over again for having turned his thoughts to her.  
  
Someone plunks down right next to him. Eduard sighs. He tries to straighten up and square his shoulders but the fellow beside him doesn't notice or doesn't care, and gets in Eduard's personal space, his elbows knocking Eduard's tray.  
  
Not wanting to cave, Eduard bears it, finishes his porridge as quickly as he can, and gets the hell out of there.  
  
He's disappointed to learn that shower-and-shave happens three times a week - of course they must leave the razor with the guards - with some extra shower access only permitted after each wing uses the recreation yard. His jaw itches with stubble. There's nothing that can be done about that.  
  
They are required to return to their cells for a headcount, which takes well over an hour. Either the prison guards are lazy and dawdle (that might be the case, judging from what he's observed) or there really are just that many people in this penitentiary.  
  
He supposes he'll find out if they ever have some sort of assembly, because meals and time outside seems to be scheduled and divided out by wing. There are four wings he's heard of.  
  
After their wing's scheduled lunch-time they are allowed out of the cells for four hours. Some people have visitations, although nobody has come to see him or his cellmates. The spiked-haired one remains in his bed; the other two leave. Not having anywhere else to go, Eduard stays in his cell, sitting on the ground with his back to the wall, and uses this time to think about things. He thinks more about what he was working on before he was booked than about what he did to merit being in here: applications of peer-to-peer networking, perhaps a storage facility - designate the owner as sole modifier of a secure log to protect data integrity -  
  
... he overhears a regular rhythmic sound, a metal creak and a soft susurrus of skin on skin. Every now and then a sigh, a grunt.  
  
He glances over at his cellmate and then, rolling his eyes, wishes he hadn't. But he supposes there's no other time for these sorts of things - the other two have left, and this cellmate has hardly noticed Eduard as a human being so he must think he's effectively alone. And what else do miscreants do to avoid tedium and have what looks like a smutty magazine in hand.  
  
Well, it's impossible to concentrate on system networking when someone's masturbating in the same room, and his cellmate takes his sweet time in pleasuring himself, so Eduard doesn't get all that much done in the time before dinner.  
  
Dinner is tasteless like lunch and breakfast were, and after that there is another headcount, and then lights out.  
  
The Russian fellow takes the top bunk, and spots Eduard eyeing the bottom bunk. "Not tonight!" he says with a grin.

* * *

It's in the showers that he gets cornered. It all happens so fast... he's on his own, minding his own business - as he has been for the past few days - and then a group of thugs come in. Eduard hasn't been stupid enough to bend down - he's seen the way he gets looked at, and he's certainly heard what they've been saying to him, but it seems even if he minds his own business and makes himself as unobtrusive as possible, he can't avoid it.  
  
They're larger than he is, not that that's hard to be. And there's one flanking him on either side (that's four) with a further two coming in close. And those two smirk, and one of them, bald head and heavily tattooed, says with a sneer, "Lookit what we got here -"  
  
\- when there's a clearing of a throat and all six heads - plus Eduard's - swivel in the direction of the sound.  
  
It's the Russian fellow from his cell. He's - he's __naked__ \- well, of course he's naked, he's __showering__ _._ Eduard feels stupid and averts his eyes. His cellmate has a faint smile which grows larger when he sees the six men surrounding Eduard.  
  
"How nice!" he says. "Is it a game? I like games."  
  
The one who spoke earlier, the ugly bald one with the tattoos, greets him. "Braginski," he says.  
  
"That __is__ my name," Eduard's cellmate - Braginski, it seems - replies. "Well done. You must be the smart one!"  
  
"Did you call dibs?" one of the others asks.  
  
Braginski doesn't reply. He simply keeps smiling.  
  
"S'okay," the one who spoke says, with his hands raised in defence. "S'okay, he's yours. We get it."  
  
And then...  
  
And then they leave. Eduard is left alone with Braginski.  
  
"They will not bother you again," Braginski replies. Eduard doesn't say anything. "You are welcome."  
  
"Th-thank you," Eduard replies, but with a sinking feeling he suspects good deeds aren't done out of the purity of one's heart.  
  
Indeed, Braginski smiles wider. "Now," he says. "About my payment."  
  
"P-uh, payment," Eduard echoes. There is a heavy muffling in his ears, and his heart beats a mad pace in his chest. Symptoms of panic. Oh, no... this can't be happening.  
  
Braginski does not clarify besides, "I would have your mouth, I think."  
  
His - his __mouth__.  
  
Braginski crosses his strong arms over that barrel chest and puts his weight on one hip, as an, 'I'm waiting' gesture.  
  
He's not a whore!  
  
He hasn't got a choice.  
  
The people still showering either find the wall more interesting to look at, or finish up and get the hell out. The guard posted pretends he doesn't notice and hasn't heard.  
  
In dismay, trembling, Eduard gets on his knees. That's pretty clear what that means.  
  
"Yes! That's the idea," Braginski giggles, and Eduard's heart sinks.  
  
He's never done this before. In fact, he's completely straight - heretofore had never considered even the prospect of - of __this__ , or of anything, and it wasn't because he had had a plethora of women in his life (no computer nerd ever has, until they're an established IT expert with a successful startup). He's therefore unprepared for the feeling of how humiliating it feels to do this, to sink to one's knees in front of someone more powerful, and to take the head of their cock in one's mouth. To have them use you, to be powerless - or as good as powerless - to stop them.  
  
Braginski's not even hard. He seems bored. From what Eduard can see from his position on the floor, he's inspecting his nails, his mouth a sneering, dissatisfied line.  
  
Well, he didn't have to do much for me, either, Eduard thinks. Only effort on his part was standing there and looking menacing! Ah, but how Eduard would trade years of hacking knowledge for that ability, in his new home. Just stand there and have people scatter like ants!  
  
So, really, it's payment for what, for the smallest of services?  
  
Then that's not too expensive, and as Eduard, the picture of reluctance, puts his mouth around Braginski's cock, he supposes he doesn't have to be an expert.  
  
Nevertheless, Braginski's intimidation tactics work as well on him as they did on the six men who had cornered him, and Eduard begins to feel it necessary to do a decent job. What if Braginski demands more? He could. He could intimidate Eduard into whatever he wanted.  
  
Maybe a little initiative would help.  
  
Eduard closes his eyes more for himself, so that he doesn't have to watch what he's doing, but Braginski misinterprets it and sighs. He places a hand on the back of Eduard's head and shoves himself in deeper.  
  
_Please, don't let me contract an STD, please_ , he thinks. But it could be worse. He doesn't exactly like any of this, but Braginski holds his face where he likes it, and for the most part all Eduard needs to do is keep his teeth out of the way and keep his lips firmly wrapped around the flesh.  
  
_Maybe a little initiative would help..._  
  
He tries licking the underside as Braginski thrusts in, and gets a shaky moan out of his cellmate. Braginski pulls out and he sucks the head hard, laves the blade of his tongue across it. With a gasp Braginski thrusts in stronger, more forceful, and Eduard only just manages to redirect him in time in to hit the roof of his mouth and avoid his gag reflex. He doesn't like the idea of what Braginski will do to him if he retches all over his genitals.  
  
It takes longer than Eduard would like. His knees hurts from being on the cold shower tile, every part of his tongue tingles, scraped raw, and his jaw is sore and partly numb. But after what feels like hours, finally Braginski's thrusts grow regular, fast, and deeper, less careful about not gagging him. It's when Eduard believes he can take no more of Braginski fucking his face that Braginski moans softly... and there is a spreading warmth that floods his mouth.  
  
This is __disgusting__ , Eduard thinks, gagging from the taste and the texture, like salty snot, as Braginski, hypersensitive, pushes Eduard's mouth off his cock. He wills himself to swallow it all even though it feels like it sticks there, in the back of his throat, as a reminder of his subservience. He tries to cough it away. It doesn't work too well.  
  
"That's better than I expected," Braginski says, a little breathless. "Good job."  
  
"Ah. Thank you?" Eduard says, almost reflexively.  
  
He curses himself. __What the fuck__ , he doesn't have to thank __Braginski__ after he sucked him off! Has he no dignity?  
  
Perhaps not. Because it's been three days he's been in jail and every hungry wolf in here looks at him like he's a piece of meat and a constant stream of obscenities is yelled at him daily to precisely such an end, and it's been all he can do to avoid confrontation.  
  
Besides - he thinks, as Braginski extends a hand to him and helps him up onto his shaky legs - Braginski could've done some real damage, and didn't.  
  
Furthermore, Braginski leaves him alone to his thoughts while he showers (what he had originally come in here for).  
  
Two of the men from earlier return to the showers, but don't make eye contact. Eduard catches them watching him out of his peripheral vision but they don't do anything except covertly watch him as he scrubs himself off, trying to feel clean again.  
  
He doubts he'll be feeling clean for some time.  
  
If only he too were big enough to fight his way to the top, intimidate and menace who he liked. He wouldn't abuse such a power but it would be wonderful to keep people off him, to let him serve his sentence in peace!  
  
This entire place seems to work on a __quid pro quo__ system. Makes sense. Nobody has much money in here, so if you can't strongarm your way up the hierarchy and stay there, precariously balanced, then it's whatever you can do to barter your way up instead.  
  
Such a payment, though? Must he barter away himself?  
  
But how else could someone like Eduard intimidate anybody? Perhaps he could start working out, but it would take too long for any noticeable changes. And had he __seen__ the muscles on his cellmates?! Especially the one he just __sucked off?__ Eduard could take steroids for a year and not be that big!  
  
No, what is he saying to himself. He's not a whore, he has dignity.  
  
Of course he does. A man like him shouldn't even __be__ here.  
  
Then what was this?  
  
Besides, in a place like prison, perhaps dignity is a tradeable commodity too.  
  
He needed the help. That was the price. It was that simple.  
  
Eduard bends down to fetch the soap at his feet and stands up again. The men watch him. They eye his ass. But after what just happened he's pissed off and lashes out by glaring, before he remembers that they're larger than he is and there's two of them.  
  
They avert their eyes.  
  
"Braginski's fuckin' bitch," one of them mutters, and they mind their own business.  
  
This gets him thinking.


	3. Chapter 3

Eduard's wing is permitted use of the rec yard for two hours the following day.  
  
He's never been much on exercise, but he runs a few laps around the track until he can't breathe and then pushes himself for more, because people are watching him and laughing - like the ugly bald one, and that German one Eduard's pretty sure is a skinhead who's just grown out his white hair, and the Latino gang who mock his pathetic attempts at exercise.  
  
And there's hardly anybody on the track. Those that aren't watching him and screaming _run, bitch, run_ hang out on the weight machines with no signs of leaving them anytime soon.  
  
So much for his plan to tone up.  
  
After about half an hour, he's discovered the endorphin rush of running, and it makes him feel light-headed and dizzy. For the first time in days he feels good, he feels hopeful, he feels like he can shoulder the weight of shame of his being incarcerated, he feels like he might make it through ten years without being stabbed or raped.  
  
He races the rush off in about ten minutes and when he feels he can finally go no further, he collapses against the chain-link fence, panting for breath.  
  
It's a beautiful day outside. What a shame to waste it in a place like this. The sky a clear blue, the clouds wisps of white painted against it, and he won't be free to enjoy such a sight for another ten years, ten _long years_. What a nightmare.  
  
"Y'shouldn't turn yer back on anybody in here," growls a voice directly behind him.  
  
He lets out a loud gasp before he manages to clamp down on his fear. He turns around. It's another one of his cellmates, the one with the short blond hair and the glasses. His cellmate doesn't smile, or move from his position behind Eduard, not a foot from him, in his personal space.  
  
Then he props himself up with a hand on the chain-link, above Eduard's shoulder, and leans in closer with a nasty look.  
  
"Ya gonna spot him, Berwald?" Eduard hears from beyond his cellmate. "He'll probably need it for _ten fuckin' pounds._ "  
  
A flush of anger shoots through him and his cheeks spot warmth. "Ignore 'em," says his cellmate - _Berwald_. "But they're right, y'need a spott'r."  
  
"I'm too exhausted," Eduard argues. "And there's people on the machines."  
  
"Oh, they'll move," Berwald grunts, and flexes. He walks over to the weights... and the people on it scatter. Berwald extends a welcoming hand to them, and as tired as Eduard is, he supposes he shouldn't snub a kind gesture.  
  
Berwald teaches him a bit about the weights and what to do with lifting. "Don't b' tempted t'round yer back," he advises, placing a hand on Eduard's lower back. Uncomfortable with being touched, Eduard sits up a lot straighter. "Much bett'r," Berwald says.  
  
"Thanks," he mumbles. That's the second time he's thanked someone for their intervention, and ... he gulps. His cellmate is probably not doing this for free. Nobody does anything for free in this place.  
  
Word must have spread about what a slut he was, on his knees in the showers for that Braginski fellow. Who knows, maybe Berwald is even used to _sharing things_ among his cellmates.  
  
"S' enough fer t'day, 'm gonna go hit th' showers," Berwald says.  
  
Eduard nods and follows him in a daze. He keeps head held high so as not to let on that he hears all the murmurs and whispers that trail behind him about what Berwald will have him do.  
  
But nothing happens in the showers - Berwald is efficient and finishes washing in record time, a system Eduard too should adopt - and in no time at all they find themselves back in their cell.  
  
Nobody else in their wing is around.  
  
Berwald clears his throat.  
  
"I, ah," Eduard begins. "I suppose ... I ought to thank you properly, for today."  
  
"Hm," Berwald grunts, unimpressed. "Y'don't have much t'give, y'just got here."  
  
Eduard looks pointedly at Berwald's crotch.  
  
Oh, he feels like such a filthy _whore_.  
  
Whatever, it's just a blowjob, it's a transaction, he should stop being such a child.  
  
"Are y' offerin'?" Berwald asks. He seems surprised.  
  
Eduard looks back and forth. Is he digging himself a deeper hole by assuming people are okay with this behind bars? Some of these hardened criminals might be extremely hostile to such behaviour, even if it's established that at least one of his cellmates isn't.  
  
"Are you accepting?" he replies. "I ... would rather not owe anybody anything."  
  
Berwald raises an eyebrow and looks amused, so Eduard gets to it and kneels in front of him - when Berwald stops him with a hand on his head. "I c'n get head anytime I want," he says. "Have fer th' past year."  
  
"Then..." Eduard isn't sure.  
  
"I want somethin' else," Berwald says. He nods to the top bunk. When Eduard doesn't move he adds, "So long's yer offerin'."  
  
He _really_ shouldn't have even bothered saying anything.  
  
While he's at it, he shouldn't've bothered waking up off the floor this morning!  
  
But he did say it first. Better not to be in anybody's debt. He definitely doesn't want to owe any favours, and if Berwald will agree to clearing any favour-owing between them with this, he ought to be amenable -  
  
But Berwald is _huge_ , he just showered with the man, he's giant when soft! -  
  
\- on the upside, at least he's fresh and clean? -  
  
\- oh fuck it, Eduard thinks, and puts a hand on the ladder to the top bunk.  
  
Berwald stops him. "Y'won't need these," he says, tracing a finger over the collar of Eduard's orange jumpsuit, one large hand lingering close to Eduard's bare neck, and another uncomfortably warm, settled atop his where it rests on the ladder.  
  
He takes a deep breath - first he glances down the hall, but there is nothing but silence and it seems there's nobody around - and then unbuttons the jumpsuit to his waist. He unclicks the belt around it and the garment falls to his feet. "Those too," Berwald says, gesturing to his underwear. "Y'can keep th' shirts."  
  
The beds aren't soft, and neither are the sheets, he reflects, as his bare ass hits them, but they're a hell of a lot warmer and softer than the floor on which he's been sleeping. "How should - should I," he begins, unable to finish his thought.  
  
"Yer good like that," Berwald says. He puts a hand on Eduard's bare thigh and pushes his legs apart. "A lil' wider," he explains, as he settles himself between Eduard's legs. He's stripped to the waist with the jumpsuit unbuttoned all the way down, and from this Eduard can see that either he hasn't bothered with underwear or he has already pulled it down past his cock, as well as the fact that he's hard. And gigantic.  
  
Horrified, Eduard takes one look at _it_ and then can't bring himself to look anywhere else but at the wall.  
  
Berwald doesn't appear to care. "Y'should prepare yerself, I'm not gonna do it for you," he mutters.  
  
Eduard has little idea what that means but he has an awful suspicion, and the quick glimpse he saw of Berwald has encouraged him to attempt to make this as bearable as possible. He tries a single finger and that doesn't feel quite right so he skips to a second. It feels awful and he thinks he's never been less aroused.  
  
Berwald meanwhile watches him stick his fingers in his ass, and touches himself. He spits twice in his palm before he strokes. That's a good idea. Eduard spits a few times in his hands before stretching himself further. It still feels awful.  
  
"S' enough," Berwald grunts. So Eduard puts his hands at his side and braces himself.  
  
To say it hurts is nowhere near an accurate description of the excruciating pain as Berwald shoves himself in. He hasn't prepared enough, and it's dry and burns and it's horrific and torturous and this is _so much worse_ than a goddamn blowjob. Eduard bites down on his lip hard to keep from screaming, and to his credit not a single whimper escapes him.  
  
Until Berwald pulls out and thrusts in again. He can't fight a quiet gasp of agony.  
  
The pain makes his eyes water, but Berwald holds him too closely for them to see each others' faces. They are chest to chest, separated only by Eduard's undershirts, his legs slung over Berwald's massive thighs and spread wide apart by his hips, which drive his hard cock deeper into Eduard, his balls slamming up against Eduard's ass. Berwald has one arm behind Eduard's shoulder, gripping the bedframe. The other has a firm grip on his ass, keeping it still as he drills himself inside.  
  
At one point he sneaks a hand up Eduard's ribcage, beneath his shirts. It tickles and distracts him from the anguish, but this appears to be a slip of intimacy that Berwald has mistaken, because he moves his hand back to Eduard's ass and keeps it there.  
  
So Eduard tries to distract himself by counting the cracks in the ceiling. It helps a lot less than tickling does.  
  
This is more traditional than anything he had imagined - boring missionary - but it seems to be what Berwald wants. Yet it takes too long for Berwald to come and when he finally does, he pounds harder and faster, ignoring the way Eduard cringes every time he plunges in deep, grunting his way to the pleasure he demands out of Eduard's body until his sweaty hips still and he rams himself in a final time.  
  
He collapses on top of Eduard, sweat-damp and panting in his ear, heart racing so hard Eduard can feel it through his shirts.  
  
He's _still inside him_. Eduard wonders what he has to do to get Berwald to leave already and then supposes that it's Berwald's bed and that he's the one who has to do the leaving.  
  
Finally, Berwald is flaccid enough to slip out. Slip out is a misnomer, because he's so large that Eduard is clenched around him even while soft. He rolls off. Eduard, gangly and ungraceful, clambers off the bunk and down the bed to the toilet in their cell. Ordinarily he doesn't use it, he waits for when they are permitted access to the private stalls, but after what just happened he supposes there's already no privacy. And, more pressing, he needs to get Berwald's come out of his ass.  
  
He flushes and redresses. As he buttons his jumpsuit back up, Berwald mutters, "We're even," from his top bunk.  
  
"Good," he replies coldly.  
  
Oh, and sitting hurts.  
  
Sitting on the floor _definitely_ hurts.  
  
He curls up in a ball and tries to sleep until dinner.  


* * *

  
But someone must have been watching, because the following day shortly after noon, Eduard gets cornered again. This time it occurs during their hours of labour. It's not the first time Eduard has soldered tiny components to a little green circuit board, but it is the first time he's done it for eighteen cents an hour.  
  
There can't be any weaponry on any of them, because when they enter or exit the shop they are scanned with a metal detector, and supervised with three guards.  
  
Eduard feels safe with the metal detectors. Less safe with the guards. After all, he's seen how little they do to help, and this is three guards to a gigantic warehouse with lots of space and easy access to heavy, blunt objects. He suspects there must be other security features at play but can't point them out.  
  
So he works by himself after he is shown what to do. He's efficient and before an hour is through he has run out of components, so he abandons his station to get more.  
  
When he returns, another of his cellmates is in his seat, toying with his soldering iron and smiling a shit-eating grin. This time it's the one with the spiky hair. _This is like a perverse retelling of Dickens' three ghosts_ , he thinks dryly. Eduard stands next to him and he waggles his fingers in a caricature of a wave.  
  
"Don't think we been introduced," he mocks. He sounds Germanic but the lilts of his voice signal perhaps Flemish or Dutch influence. (So, probably not a skinhead? Eduard hasn't heard of many Dutch skinheads.) It makes for an intimidating mix on the contrasts alone - giant man, huge arms, bullying expression with smirky lips ... and a playfully wry voice? His apparent friendliness makes the whole thing worse. Eduard is immediately suspicious.  
  
His cellmate extends a hand. "Willem. With a w," he notes.  
  
"Eduard," he replies. He considers not taking the hand but this may get him in more trouble. As expected, his cellmate does as Eduard has seen the other two do: he is firm and domineering and he crushes Eduard's hand in his with a powerful grip. He's trying to intimidate Eduard. It's working.  
  
Willem cocks his head with a confused look. "Funny, I didn't know you had a name besides 'bitch'."  
  
Eduard refuses to take the bait. "Is there something you need?" he asks flatly.  
  
"Need? No." Willem stands and leans forward, bringing their faces close. " _Want?_ Maybe."  
  
"Yeah? And what might that be," Eduard growls.  
  
Willem purses his lips. "Kitten has claws!" he coos. He hops up on the worktable, his back to the guards, and his demeanour shifts from playful to menacing in about two seconds. "I want what you been givin' everybody else, _bitch_ ," he says, in a low sneer. "What about _mine_ , hmm?"  
  
Eduard looks around. Berwald and Braginski are nowhere near, and he didn't see them on his way in. This tells him that either whatever their crimes were, they weren't minor; or that they haven't exhibited good enough behaviour to merit inclusion into the work program.  
  
"Hey," Willem snaps. He grabs Eduard's chin and turns it harshly to face him. "You look at me when I'm talking to you."  
  
"What do you want from me," Eduard spits out.  
  
"I told you, I -"  
  
"Tell me exactly what you think it is you can intimidate out of me," he interrupts. "Put it in words. Be specific. Make me laugh. God knows I could use a good _laugh._ "  
  
Willem gives him a nasty smile. "That won't make you blush in fronta these nice people?"  
  
Eduard narrows his eyes. "Do bitches blush?"  
  
"If you knew what I wanna do to you, I think you might," Willem replies. He licks his lips.  
  
If Eduard didn't know better, he'd swear he's being aggressively flirted with.  
  
"Nobody does anything for free in this place," he retorts. "And I don't owe you anything."  
  
Willem shrugs. "Show me whatcha got, maybe I can pay."  
  
That stings. A reminder of sex as a transaction, of his only means.  
  
Eduard hoped this banter would be enough, but it's not looking that way. _Show that you can stand up for yourself, don't let other people push you around._ Well, he hasn't been doing much defending lately, but one on one is easier than many on one, and he's just so sick of being walked on and paying for it with his body like a prostitute, and they all went through metal detectors so Willem can't be armed, and he's more teasing than his other two cellmates - every bit as dangerous, but more playful - and anyway, this is more public than his cell or the showers were. Nothing can happen to him in public, right?  
  
But it doesn't stay public.  
  
"I think you need more of these," Willem says, plucking one of the chips from Eduard's hand. He grazes his fingers along Eduard's wrist. _I am definitely being flirted with_ , he thinks, trying to will away the goosebumps up his arm at the simple touch of Willem's skin. "Go get some more."  
  
"I've enough," he says.  
  
"One missing," Willem taunts, waving the chip in the air. Eduard makes a grab for it. Willem yanks it out of the way in time and grabs his wrist instead. His expression darkens. "Now, I'll ask you again," he says tersely. "'Cause I'm __polite__ like that. Go. Get. Some more."  
  
It isn't a request.  
  
Angrily, Eduard wrenches his wrist back.  
  
Berwald's words float back to him - __you shouldn't turn your back on anyone in here__ \- so he walks the first few steps backwards until he's far enough away. Only then does he feel secure enough to walk the rest of the way to the cabinet.  
  
Willem follows him. Of course he does! Eduard isn't even surprised when he hears the footsteps of his cellmate trail behind him.  
  
What does surprise him is how, when he reaches the cabinet, Willem yanks him by the collar of his orange jumpsuit and shoves him up against the wall with his body. "What are you doing?!" he whispers. "Here? Everyone can see -"  
  
"No they can't," Willem argues. "Nobody's around, too busy tryin' not to get fuckin' burnt by hot metal, the guards don't give enough shits to get up off their lazy fat asses and everybody who might come by knows better than to mess with me when I'm busy getting what I want."  
  
"That so, you cocky son of a bitch?" he retorts.  
  
Willem smirks. He bends forward and licks Eduard's neck, dragging his teeth and lower lip along Eduard's jawline as he pants hot breath across wet skin. But Eduard's neck has always been sensitive, and Willem's stubble tickles, so in a mild panic Eduard realises __this is disturbingly arousing__. The prickle of stubble rubbed against his neck is intoxicating and he is sufficiently distracted not to notice Willem's fingers on him until the buttons down his jumpsuit have been undone to the waist and he's started working on the sleeves.  
  
If it isn't true what he said about the guards then maybe someone will come by and stop this - but part of Eduard already knows how unlikely that is. He tries pushing Willem off by the arms.  
  
It's fruitless. Willem doesn't move, and if anything presses himself up closer, now that the top of Eduard's jumpsuit hangs down around his waist. His fingers don't even make it halfway around Willem's biceps! There's no way he can push him off.  
  
So he goes limp and gives up. He'll let Willem do what he wants. What else can he do, scream for help? Nobody will help him!  
  
It can't possibly be worse than what he's already had.  
  
And Willem's attitude is telling. His interest was so easily piqued by a flicker of back-talk, and even now as he's tonguing Eduard's neck and his hands have wandered to strip Eduard to the waist and slip beneath his underwear, there's a mischievousness. Willem keeps the power imbalance established but he's not entirely without sport. Which means maybe he understands the concept of fair game and Eduard can get something out of this.  
  
But 'maybe' or not, it's not like Eduard has any choice in the matter.  
  
He feels his underwear yanked down and then Willem lifts him, perches him up on a work desk behind the cabinet, against the wall, and steps between Eduard's legs, hooking them around his hips. From this angle it's easy for him to pull Eduard's underwear the rest of the way and shove the jumpsuit to his knees. With his legs bound by stiff orange cotton, Eduard is off balance and either has to wrap his arms around Willem's broad shoulders or recline back on the desk. He's not fond of how either action makes him seem like a willing party to this act.  
  
Willem reaches for something in his pocket - but then Eduard is distracted again, one of Willem's hands has snuck inside his undershirts and found his nipple, and is sweeping over it back and forth. Embarrassingly, it feels __incredible__ and makes him shiver and twitch.  
  
"There we go," says Willem. Eduard hears a faint click and a __spurt__ of something from a squeeze bottle and then -  
  
"Shit! That's fucking cold!" he hisses.  
  
"It'll warm, be patient," says Willem, and then adds with what is fast becoming characteristic jocularity, "Don't worry, it's not what I put in my hair," the absurdity of which makes Eduard crack up with derisive laughter despite his situation. Willem keeps tracing circles around his hole, dipping in every so often but shallowly, teasingly. He almost wishes they could get it over with, because between this kind of thing which is sort of __insanely erotic__ and Willem's stupid flirtation, he's become hard.  
  
It's one thing to passively take it because you have no choice.  
  
But to be enjoying it?  
  
Well, wouldn't that make him a -  
  
" _ _Bitch__ , yeah, that's right, you fuckin' __love__ this," Willem snarls against him, grinding his hard cock into the back of Eduard's thigh. He slips a finger in - or maybe it's two, Eduard can't tell - and drives them in.  
  
Unfortunately, unlike with Berwald, it doesn't hurt or feel bad at all.  
  
Willem gets in deep, strokes over his prostate and laughs low in his ear when Eduard gasps and his hands on Willem's arms tighten reflexively. "Too bad we're not doing this back __home__ ," he says smugly, "I love the idea of my cock making you scream."  
  
"What makes - __ah__ \- makes you think any of th- _ _this__ is for you or your stupid cock," Eduard pants.  
  
"Oh, isn't it?" Willem asks. He twists his fingers inside him. As if on command Eduard fails to contain a soft moan and clutches harder at Willem's shoulders.  
  
He tortures him a little longer with such an assault. Soon Eduard's every breath is part gasp and he's begun pushing back against Willem's fingers.  
  
Thank whatever god there is above that nobody has managed to find them yet. Bad enough Willem alone has taken this as crowing rights for decades and is hissing slutty things in his ears. "Love it, dontcha, want nothing more than to be stuffed with a nice fat cock."  
  
"Already had one," Eduard sneers, "can't say I thought much of it."  
  
"So I heard," Willem replies. "Surprised you let Berwald do that to you, doesn't even know what he's fuckin' doing." He steps closer and Eduard can feel the blunt head poking him in the ass, slick and greasy with lube.  
  
"And you do?" he asks. He wants to sound like he doesn't believe it, not one stupid word said out of those wry, twisted lips, but it sounds a lot more like, __go on, convince me.__  
  
"You're goddamn right I do," and in one fluid motion - pressing their bodies close - Willem shoves himself in and steals the breath from Eduard's mouth by covering it with his own. To call something so raunchy a kiss is reprehensible, but it works at shutting them both up.  
  
It should feel awful, because Berwald was only yesterday. It should feel wrong and intrusive and he should feel violated. And he does a bit, because how dare Willem play his body so skilled like a musician with his instrument! How dare he know it better than Eduard himself! But Willem, true to his word, knows what to do, knows how to angle himself in so that the head touches him right where he needs it and knows how to make it tingle down his spine. It's good, it's brilliant, there's hardly any pain besides the hot slick slide of Willem's hard body inside him, and with every touch it hurts less and less.  
  
Eduard, shamefully, rocks his hips to meet the thrusts. It must be the rush, the sick thrill, the atmosphere, it's getting to him, his panic and high-strung habits finally __snapping__ , but this isn't as bad as what either of the other two did. If he could have this on a regular basis it might make his time in here a little less horrid, even if he's taking it up the ass, even if it's humiliating, no wonder he never mustered the courage to try this with Katyushka - __oh fuck no, don't think about your wife! Not right now!__  
  
"Aagh, you're so fucking __tight__ ," Willem pants, "Jesus __Christ__ , shoulda fuckin' done this days ago instead of jacking off like a loser - didja like the show? I bet you did."  
  
"Like I give a shit about looking at your cock," Eduard gasps back.  
  
"Yeah, I bet you like __feeling__ it __more__ ," he replies, punctuating his words with particularly deep thrusts that have Eduard weak-kneed, reeling, and thankful for the support of the workbench he is reclined upon. "Fuck, would you look at you, you stupid sexy bitch, fucking touch yourself already -"  
  
\- which seems like a really good idea at the time. Why not get off, since everybody else is?  
  
" _ _Yes,__ fuck," Willem whispers. "You like this, don't you?"  
  
Eduard doesn't even bother trying to deny it anymore. Willem's aggression is dangerous, and he's probably not joking about about nobody messing with him. And he's enjoying this.  
  
And Eduard isn't exactly complaining.  
  
What if... What if Willem liked it enough to exchange his protection for Eduard's ass? It might be the sex talking but he isn't bad-looking... and he's __big__ , maybe not quite as big as Braginski or Berwald but menacing and scary-looking and people don't want to mess with him either...  
  
__That would make me an actual whore__ , he thinks, but he's busy palming himself and rather than find the idea degrading, it arouses him.  
  
Maybe it arouses him __because__ it degrades him.  
  
He'd always been so proud, look how far he's fallen! What would everyone who had ever respected him think, watching him fist himself madly, his hips shifting to get as much as he can of another guy's cock, in this ridiculous, undignified position which is technically __still in public!__  
  
__Let's also not mention the fact that my dignity has been gone for awhile now,__ he reflects.  
  
"Ah, fuck," he finds himself cursing, "oh, __y-yes__ -"  
  
"That's right," Willem gloats, "you fuck yourself on my cock and you're gonna come like that, right fuckin' now."  
  
Damned if Willem doesn't know his body better than himself because his rough voice is all Eduard needs to finish. He bites his lip to stay quiet and stifle a scream, gets his hand over the tip to keep things clean and enjoys the brief moment of blissful catharsis as he comes. Everything goes white and his heart races. He stops caring about how much dignity he's supposed to have in favour of pushing himself harder and deeper onto Willem's cock. He feels himself clench hard around Willem.  
  
"Yeah, __fuck__ , ngh," Willem grunts. He pounds into Eduard twice more before he pulls out in full and comes into his hand.  
  
His cellmate collapses forehead first onto Eduard's shoulder. "Willem," Eduard whispers. "We need to get back to work."  
  
"Please, we've only been gone twenty minutes," Willem says, wiping his hand off on the table. It's gross, but Eduard doesn't object. And there isn't anything else to wipe himself off with, so he does the same. "Which by my knowledge is also company time, so. Makes us __both__ whores for the high price of a whole __six cents__."  
  
Maybe it's the rush or the flood of hormones from orgasm but he can barely breathe for laughter. "You asshole," Eduard giggles. "Cocky son of a bitch is right."  
  
Willem's half-grin is a lot more genuine. "You're not half bad yourself," he replies. "And not bad looking. I might keep you around."  
  
"Thanks," Eduard says sarcastically.  
  
"Yeah, well maybe next time you can last longer," he retorts. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two small packs of cigarettes. "Here," he says, handing them to Eduard.  
  
"I don't smoke."  
  
Willem snorts. "Good boy! Stay in school, don't do drugs, an' all that shit." Eduard rolls his eyes. "It's money. You can trade 'em for something else. Toothpaste's a start. Told you I could pay."  
  
So far, Eduard hasn't actually been whoring, not really. But Willem makes Eduard feel like he can get away with being mouthy. (And is his asshole worth nothing but a measly two packs of smokes?) "What if I wanted something else?" Willem stops buttoning himself back up and raises an eyebrow. "Would you - would you do something for me? If I got into trouble, could you get me out?"  
  
He shrugs. "Depends on who the trouble's with. Let's say I decide on a case-by-case basis."  
  
"You could have more," Eduard offers, letting his legs fall open.  
  
Willem looks him up and down and smirks. "I'll consider it," he says. "Keep the smokes."  
  
Eduard supposes that's good enough for now and hops off the table to make himself proper.


	4. Chapter 4

Eduard's guess is that someone among the Latino gang smokes, and that someone among the Latino gang also knows where to get stuff.  
  
His guess is a good one. He approaches the surly, swarthy fellow (who is Italian not Mexican thankyouverymuch - Eduard of course pretends to have known this from the start) who had been one of the few people minding his own business in the rec yard instead of hurling insults at him.  
  
Lovino's eyes go wide at the cigarettes. "The fuck did _you_ get _those?_ " he asks.  
  
"Here and there," Eduard says dismissively. "I'll trade - what have you got?"  
  
At the end, on the table from Lovino's bag of odds and ends are a new toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, a pack of gauze bandages, a new pack of socks and a tube of deodorant. The deodorant isn't new, which is revolting, but Lovino pulls out a pocket knife and shaves the first few layers off from the stick. It will have to do.  
  
Lovino doesn't look like the type of person who can defend himself without a weapon of some sort. Maybe if someone had taken Eduard under their wing and given _him_ a blade, he wouldn't've had to resort to - well, this.  
  
But what's done is done, and he gets what he needs.  
  
The transaction lasts only twenty minutes but in that time, Lovino has softened considerably and pulled out blatant contraband that they both know he's not supposed to have, so Eduard suspects he's in good books. "I gotta say," Lovino says in passing, "you're really losing out on this deal. This shit's rare in here since they stopped stocking anything with nicotine. I feel kinda bad."  
  
"Don't," Eduard says with a shrug. "I don't smoke. These mean nothing to me." He tosses the two packs on the table. "But if you want to even it out..."  
  
He takes a deep breath. Lovino has trusted _him_ , after all.  
  
"Do you have anything that could be used for lube?"  
  
Lovino's demeanour changes immediately. "I - _shit_ , uh, yeah, just - gimme a sec," he fumbles. He pulls out a bottle of K-Y, opened but three-quarters full. "That'll do?"  
  
Eduard takes one look at it and nods. He's embarrassed enough that he has to even do this. He wishes the ground would open up beneath him and suck everything up, him, the goddamn bottle, this whole situation.  
  
But if it'll make it less like it was with Berwald and more like it was with Willem, that would be worth it. That would be worth any mortification.  
  
"'Here and there', huh?"  
  
Eduard looks away.  
  
"You just _got_ here," Lovino argues.  
  
"Didn't make any friends," he replies.  
  
Lovino is quiet. Then he asks, "You weren't booked for - for doin' anything with kids, right?"  
  
"God, no!" Eduard is horrified.  
  
"Okay! Okay, good. Jesus. 'Cause, fuck - wow. I mean, I thought maybe that was why - well. Then I dunno what you did to deserve those three on your ass. Uh, literally. That's the worst thing I can imagine being in here for."  
  
He doesn't feel much like discussing details, so he just tells Lovino it was fraud. (This is kind of a lie. Simple Ponzi scheme it was not.)  
  
But it reminds him that he also has no idea what his cellmates have done to merit being here. Braginski seems like the kind of person who took someone's life. Probably while smiling.  
  
Willem, though ... domestic abuse? You don't get years in jail for that, though.  
  
And Berwald is an outright mystery. No idea at all.  
  
Anyway, it's nearly time for their post-dinner head count, so they part ways for their cells.  
  


* * *

  
Willem and Braginski aren't back yet when he returns. (Their problem, not his.) Berwald is in bed, reading something.  
  
With only a slight wince, Eduard takes his seat on the floor, as he's done for the past five days now. A book would be nice, he thinks. Maybe next time he'll trade for something like that.  
  
'Next time'. __Next time I whore my ass out for material goods and protection services.__ He can't believe he's even thinking this.  
  
A mumble from above interrupts his thoughts. "Pardon?" he asks.  
  
"Said 'm sorry," Berwald repeats, a bit louder and a fraction more clearly.  
  
"For...?"  
  
"Yer still walkin' funny," he explains. Eduard blushes.  
  
Berwald must think it's still from yesterday. But he didn't have to apologise. He could have just said nothing at all. He could have thought, __fuck it, I owe him nothing__ , or even, __bet that stupid bitch liked it rough__ , like everybody else seems to think.  
  
Berwald apologising shows some sort of sympathy for him, which means there's some compassion there. Which means Berwald is likely not the kind of guy who gets off to other people not enjoying sex with him.  
  
Which means he's the kind of guy who might like it if the other party he's fucking is into it.  
  
Which means there's something Eduard can offer him.  
  
"If you're really sorry," Eduard begins, "maybe you'll help me out. When other people - you know how the pricks are in this place - when they decide it's a fun game to pick on me." He takes a deep breath. "Maybe I'll give you something if you do. Maybe it'd be different this time."  
  
A cynical snort. "This time," Berwald mutters. Then there's silence from the top bunk, and then a shift of cloth as Berwald puts down the book and leans his head over. "Yer not __serious?__ "  
  
Eduard nods.  
  
Berwald thinks about it for about thirty seconds, which he spends alternately judging Eduard's body through the jumpsuit and pretending he's not interested. "Alright," he says finally, "yer on."  
  
Willem returns the second he says it. "Where the fuck is Ivan?"  
  
Eduard shrugs. Berwald shrugs.  
  
"Asshole doesn't get back in five we're gonna get fucked on head count," he replies. "Speakin' of getting fucked," he continues, pointing to Eduard, "I'm surprised you can sit after that good dicking I gave you earlier!" Willem leaves again, presumably to find Braginski (whose first name must be Ivan, but it's not like Eduard is on a first-name basis with any of them despite having what might be considered intimate knowledge of all three).  
  
Berwald studies him over the railing of the top bunk. Eduard puts on his best innocent face.  
  
"You an' - I fuckin' apologised fer nothin'," Berwald mutters.  
  
"Not for nothing!" Eduard says. "I meant what I said. So did you. A deal's a deal."  
  
Berwald grips the railing and vaults himself off the top bunk to land in front of Eduard. Eduard refuses to cower when he's already sitting, but Berwald grabs him by the arm and yanks him into standing. He towers over him menacingly, and __then__ Eduard starts to cower.  
  
And for all Eduard's usual composure, he's been mouthy enough today that the fount of gallows humour has yet to dry up. (He needs this out of his system before Braginski returns!) "Bad time to tell you I have a no-refunds policy?" he squeaks.  
  
He expects to be beaten for this, and closes his eyes in anticipation.  
  
Instead Berwald snorts. And then he chuckles, and then he's outright laughing. Two minutes of doubling over, unrestrained laughter, like he hasn't experienced true amusement in awhile. Finally he calms and says, "Y' got __balls__ , 's good," between fits of sniggers. Shakily, Eduard smiles.  
  
Berwald sobers and leans in to growl, "An' now they're __mine__ \- " he punctuates this with a sudden grab of Eduard's testicles that has him backed up, pressed flat against the wall and breathing hard - "so don't ever let anybody else see 'em, y'got it?"  
  
"Whatever you say," he whispers.


	5. Chapter 5

A day later, he's waiting for dinner to come around. Willem is in his bed, doing a crossword; Berwald is reading.  
  
Braginski disappeared at ten in the morning and is nowhere to be found. This suits Eduard fine.  
  
The problem with this is that they are on scheduled lockdown and have been nearly all day, another reason that they're waiting for dinner to come to them instead of sitting down like civilised people in the cafeteria.  
  
Braginski returns an hour before dinner with the guards. They unlock the door and shove him through. He's bound by the wrists in front. "Stick 'em through," the guard mumbles, and Braginski obliges. He waits until they are out of sight to rub his freed wrists.  
  
"Where were _you?_ " Willem asks.  
  
"None of your business," Braginski snaps. He eyes the guards on their way down the hall of their wing. They slow as Willem speaks, perhaps hoping to catch a snippet of Braginski's whereabouts or wrongdoings or both. But none of them are informers here and Willem keeps quiet until they hear the click of the wing door's closure as the guards exit before talking again.  
  
"Lucky you didn't get into more trouble," he says.  
  
Braginski snorts and rolls his eyes. "Oh please, what will they do, put me in prison?"  
  
"Y'don't wanna get outta here sometime soon?" asks Berwald. "Y'need good b'haviour fer that."  
  
"It's not likely. They want to keep someone like me away from the - ahem - _innocent_ for quite some time. Safe keeping, you know." Braginski uncrosses his arms from his wide chest, and his serious, pessimistic disposition trickles off him like rain, replaced as quickly by a smile that makes Eduard uneasy. "Anyway," he continues, "why would I leave prison when I have a new toy?"  
  
He eyes Eduard with a gleam and a wicked grin.  
  
No, Eduard _really_ doesn't like the looks of this. "Ah..."  
  
"Yes, you. I heard my friends here have had their turn with the bitch first, which makes me the last one." He pouts. "You know, I am a little unhappy about that."  
  
Before Eduard can do or say anything, Braginski has strode across the cell, grabbed him by his skinny wrists and hauled him to his feet viciously. On his way past, Braginski plants a foot in his back and kicks to send him careening into the bars of the cell door.  
  
"Aw _right!_ " someone cries from another cell, "let's get this fuckin' party _started!_ "  
  
He barely manages to keep upright by clinging onto the bars. It happens too fast for Eduard to do anything. Not that he could do anything. Braginski is monstrously strong and it's the best Eduard can do to keep his balance.  
  
Then Braginski is behind him, and he finds himself literally between a rock and a hard place.  
  
Murmurs and a hush arise from the other cells. The ones across from theirs take particular interest, because everyone inside can see him.  
  
"Perhaps this time," hisses Braginski in his ear, "I shall extract payment in advance, yes?"  
  
He kicks Eduard's legs apart. With a sneaky hand, he gets a firm hold on the seam of Eduard's jumpsuit in front and _yanks_ , popping the buttons free to his waist. The buttons scatter and roll down the hall between the cells.  
  
"Hot time tonight!" someone laughs.  
  
"Oooh, your day jus' got a lot worse, sunshine," says another.  
  
"Don't - aah!" he yelps, as Braginski, ignoring him, pulls his jumpsuit down by the back of the collar.  
  
It wrenches his arms back as Braginski works on freeing them from the sleeves and it's so rough that he hasn't any means of protest, not when he has no access to his arms, and especially not when he's already off-balance, propped up on Braginski's chest. When his arms are finally free, Braginski grabs them and throws them against the bars. "You can hold on to these," he offers.  
  
_This is actually violent._ Fear has put his heart in his throat and he can hardly breathe for panic, as he is stripped with less efficiency and more anger.  
  
What did he do to make Braginski so mad? Is he just taking things out on Eduard? It's not Eduard's fault Braginski didn't make lockdown!  
  
And lightning fast, before he can react or do anything about it, his pants are past his hips and Braginski has reached into his underwear.  
  
Eduard's eyes fly open. Evidently the men in the cell find the expression of terror on his face so hilarious they burst into peals of sick hacking sniggers.  
  
Even if Braginski's intention had been obvious, must he do this in front of an audience? "Please, no, don't -" Eduard croaks. "Have mercy!"  
  
Titters spread through the cells. They're _laughing!_  
  
"Beg louder, b'y," cries a heavily-accented voice off to the left, "'can't here ya o'er down by 'ere!"  
  
" _Pleeease, nooo, dooon't!_ " mocks another, "have _merrrrceee!_ "  
  
"God, someone stuff a cock in him already," remarks a third.  
  
"You have something, don't you?" asks Braginski, his calm voice a complete heel-face turn from his physical aggression. He speaks like this doesn't even phase him!  
  
"Sure do," replies Willem snarkily. "But what do I get in return?"  
  
"Hah!" Braginski snakes the hand in Eduard's underwear through to his front to cup his genitals. It takes all of Eduard's composure and willpower not to squeak at being handled so forcefully. "You get me not kicking your ass later," Braginski replies, "because _thanks for sharing_ , asshole."  
  
Willem _hmphs_. "Like I can't take you."  
  
"Hmm..." Braginski's hand, hot and heavy on his skin, slides backwards in his underwear to caress his ass. _Oh god_ , thinks Eduard, _this is going exactly where I think it is_. And everybody is watching them. Everybody is going to watch. Everybody is waiting for it to happen!  
  
"You get me not breaking your little bitch in two?" Braginski tries. He removes his hand from Eduard's rear end and tugs the waistband down. "I am rather large. It would be kinder. More ... _merciful._ "

Braginski brings his hand back with a loud, resonant _smack_ against his ass. Eduard doesn't know what's worse, the way the other inmates laugh at his humiliation or the way the pain of Braginski's wide palm gives way to a spreading heat and tingling where he'd really rather there not be.  
  
He spots Willem, off to the side, give a one-shoulder shrug. "There's lots of those around here, I could take," he says.  
  
"E-ex _cuse_ me!" Eduard cries.  
  
Willem pretends not to hear.  
  
And isn't Berwald going to do anything? He's big, _he_ could take Braginski -  
  
\- but there he is in his bunk, just watching placidly, pretending to be too focussed in his book. And definitely not watching them over the edge of that book.  
  
But then Braginski grabs him by the cock again and strokes him, slow, long and warm. His rough hand is almost friendly, caring; he fondles Eduard in a way that shouldn't arouse him so much given his earlier treatment. He sticks a leg between Eduard's and bumps it casually against the back of his groin, a reminder of his unending presence.  
  
"You get a _show_ ," Braginski murmurs, into the back of Eduard's neck. Eduard gasps - more from shock than pleasure, though pleasure follows quickly on the heels of fear and panic, he's _ashamed_ of how quickly, as his cock leaps to life in Braginski's calloused hands.  
  
The men in the cell across from theirs are leering at him, chattering and jeering.  
  
The din grows louder.  
  
_This can't be happening_ , he thinks.  
  
One man in a cell off to the right makes a vulgar, sexual gesture, and Eduard has the sinking feeling that unless he tries to get some help, there will be no end to this, and every man larger than him in this wing - which is __every man__ in this wing! - will have their way with him.  
  
(Not that he has never wanted for attention in his life before - oh, he has, how he has, but __there's a line__ and this __crosses it!__ )  
  
"He's wet as a chick, __lookit__ , bitch loves this shit," says one.  
  
"He's bein' __touched__ , you try it and see if it don't turn your mind t'mush," says another.  
  
"Give us a show!" yells a third.  
  
"What do you say?" asks Braginski. "Hmm?"  
  
He twists his wrist and tightens his grip on Eduard. Eduard can't keep a moan back.  
  
Both Berwald and Willem are intrigued.  
  
As well as the rest of the hall, judging by the hoots and hollers.  
  
He grips the cell bars tighter and clenches his eyes shut. He wishes he could cover his ears but he needs his hands to keep upright!  
  
Braginski lets go of him long enough to catch something tossed to him from Willem. Eduard doesn't even need to guess, he knows what it is already. __Ah, the sting of betrayal!__ Though it's not like Willem said anything to yesterday's offer one way or another. Evidently Eduard can take this as Willem's answer.  
  
Berwald is still pretending to read. His face is beet red. He hasn't looked at the book as long as Eduard's been holding eye contact with him and -  
  
"Aah!" he gasps. Braginski has shoved two slick fingers inside him, so deep he stands on tiptoes to try and get away from them, his fingers clutching at the bars.  
  
It doesn't help. Braginski shoves them in deeper and twists, separates, and wriggles. He does his best to remain silent but he has to turn his face from the ruckus in the halls that eggs Braginski on behind him.  
  
Berwald looks like he hardly remembers he has a book in his hands, his lips parted, breathing through his mouth.  
  
__Thanks for your help, asshole!__ Eduard thinks bitterly, __thanks for nothing!__ He turns his gaze from Berwald.  
  
He can't bring himself to look forward. Everyone is watching him, cackling, laughing, jeering.  
  
"Fuck him good!" calls out one voice.  
  
"Oh, I plan to," replies Braginski, his voice deadly even behind Eduard. He grabs Eduard by the hips and __pushes__ his way in.  
  
This time Eduard can't keep silent and his moan of pain is long and loud. "Please, stop," he whispers.  
  
Braginski's answer is a deeper thrust in that knocks him against the bars to the delight of the crowd.  
  
"Hmm, should have thought of this before you whored your slutty ass out for cigarettes!" says Braginski, perfectly casual, as though fucking a man into the bars of a cell door is just something he does everyday.  
  
"I __had no choice!__ " Eduard protests, his voice taut.  
  
"That's funny! You have no choice here either!" Braginski replies merrily. He kicks Eduard's legs open a little wider. It puts Eduard off balance and he grips harder onto the bars to not fall over, but it sticks his ass out and this, Braginski takes advantage of for two thrusts in __deep__ that have his mind spinning with the intensity.  
  
And then the hand on his cock starts up again, in time with the thrusts.  
  
It seems he even has no choice in not enjoying this.  
  
"You __do__ like this," Braginski gloats. Finally, it sounds like he's beginning to be the least bit affected: his voice is strained and breathy. "Look at how much you want it, how much you want me to fuck you. Your ass in the air, your cock hard in my hand. You __want__. To be __used__. __Don't__ you?" he says in time to his body's invasion of Eduard's own.  
  
"N-no!" he moans. "I - ah, please -"  
  
It's not true! He has __dignity!__  
  
Braginski shuts him up with his hand on his cock, moving faster, jerking him tightly. "You __dooo__ ," he chirps.  
  
"Harder!" screams the crowd.  
  
Braginski obliges, his thrusts deeper and stronger inside Eduard. He can hardly breathe, Braginski is so deep inside him. "You enjoy it. Some people are made to enjoy taking these things, you are perfect for it, you love it, you're so hard, the thought of serving gets you off, all I have to do is a little leg work!"  
  
If it's anything getting him off, it's the cock in his ass making constant contact with something so sensitive, now that he's been stimulated enough for an erection. But he knows how it looks - it looks like he's hard for the crowd, for their eyes on them, for Braginski's blatant and public ownership of his body.  
  
But that's __just how it looks!__  
  
And if he gets off on any of that, it's the shame of doing so that has him panting hard and gripping the bars so tight his fingers ache!  
  
"Fuckin' loves it," someone mutters nearby. It makes him whine. (He does, oh, he does, he fucking loves it.)  
  
"Aah, how __much__ you enjoy this," Braginski says. "If I'd known I would've demanded more a few days ago in the showers!" He worms a hand up Eduard's undershirts, gliding over his chest to his nipples. He pinches one viciously, __hard__ , and the sensation shoots its way through his body to his groin. Eduard rocks back into him, desperate for relief, his mouth clenched shut and breathing hard through his nose to not scream. "I'd slick up your ass with soap and shove myself in it, yes, you'd like that, ah, wouldn't you!"  
  
He can't think. He can't talk, if he opens his mouth it'll be nothing but moans. He's bent over double now, his ass in the air, presented for Braginski to fuck with his legs spread because damned if Braginski's horrible awful cock isn't making him feel amazing.  
  
"But I think you liked it in the mouth too," continues Braginski. "I wonder if we can train away your pesky gag reflex, hm? I want to see- _ _mmh!__ \- want to see how deep I can shove myself down your throat." He has one hand on Eduard's hip, one hand on his cock. He grips him tensely with both, having forgotten his capacity for strength in his lust. "I want to come down there, hn- _ _ahh__ , I want you to swallow around me. I want you, mmph, with legs spread and touching yourself because that's what the thought of me inside you __does__ to you, can't help yourself, you need it more than air -"  
  
The din is riotous. Eduard doesn't know why the guards haven't returned; he imagines they can hear him being fucked on Mars. He thought it would hard to be hard with all these people watching and yelling things, and yet he's focussing so much more on what Braginski is saying.  
  
Well, Braginski is __right behind him__ , in the same cell, the danger's a lot more imminent! The crowd, by comparison, is outside, he won't deal with them until after lockdown is over in fifteen hours. And even then he must survive no more than five hours before their second lockdown is scheduled.  
  
Five hours is a long time, though. A lot can happen in five hours. It's only taken Braginski fifteen minutes to fuck him into the cell bars, after all!  
  
So the crowd fades to a dull roar of slutty remarks, obscene yells. If it weren't for his terror, this wouldn't be so bad, although Braginski wasn't joking about the size, it feels like he's bigger than either of the other two as he drives his cock in deep.  
  
That's probably just the terror talking.  
  
And the hot, slutty things Braginski keeps whispering in his ears that have been setting his cheeks on fire. Those help, too.  
  
He's gigantic enough to make an excellent bodyguard. Even the other two in his cell seem to defer to him to some degree.  
  
He lets out a breathy moan. __Please, don't let anyone have heard -__  
  
"That's right, oh - good boy! -" Braginski caresses his ass possessively as he fucks it, and the things he says... "You see, you're mine, __I__ make you scream for more - I might share you with the other two if I am feeling charitable but don't forget who you belong to, that's __me__ -"  
  
Imagine, if he were __Braginski's!__ Nobody would dare touch him!  
  
Eduard likes the thought of that. He really likes the thought of that. His dick twitches in Braginski's hand and he arches for more and Braginski obliges and fucks him into the bars -  
  
"I __could__ be yours," he gasps, for Braginski's ears only. "D-do you protect what's yours from others? You don't - __ah!__ \- don't let others touch or take your things? Would it be the same?"  
  
As if on cue, someone screams, "Hey Vanya, __shit__ , man, leave some for the rest of us!"  
  
Braginski freezes. He remains deep inside him, but he is motionless and his hand stills on Eduard's cock. Eduard moans, lamenting the sudden absence of stimulation, and it's shameful how his first instinct is to push back, get more, clench down on the cock inside him, beg, do anything to encourage Braginski to resume his beautiful assault on him and to convince him never to stop.  
  
"Oh, I don't __think__ so, my friend," Braginski replies in a soft voice, aurally eclipsed by the magnitude of the din many times over.  
  
But Eduard hears him. "So you like it?" he whispers hoarsely, gripping the bars in front of him and backing up onto Braginski's cock. __Please, just let him move again, so close, if he doesn't let me come I'll die -__ "What will you give me for it?"  
  
He catches some snippets from the crowd as Braginski reflects. This had better work, because from the sounds of it... if Braginski doesn't take him up on his offer...  
  
"I'd do anything you want," he adds.  
  
"I'll wear him the fuck out!" shouts the ugly bald man from the showers.  
  
"- fuckin' cream his pretty face off, mmm, gonna destroy his mouth with my fuckin' cock -" A wiry built bearded inmate.  
  
But Braginski is much bigger than both of __them!__  
  
"Anything?" Braginski asks. "Dangerous words!"  
  
"- slit 'is cheeks, fit five'f us in there -"  
  
"Within prison rules," Eduard gasps. "And - and my own basic health. Just t-take care of me! Aah, __please__ \- I can't take much more of this -"  
  
"- you'll scream for me next, bitch! Sing loud an' pretty!"  
  
"I'll get my turn an' give him somethin' t' ride, know what I mean? Whoo!"  
  
" _ _Nobody__ is getting turns!" Braginski bellows into the chaos. "Not with him. He is __mine__. Do you hear? And you assholes can yell and shriek all you want. You lay a finger on him - one single finger - and I will kill you."  
  
There!  
  
That's what he wanted! His heart leaps for joy.  
  
With Braginski's arms around him, he feels surrounded, protected.  
  
(And yes, fucked into a cell door, but it's not like he's not getting his enjoyment from it!)  
  
The crowd simmers down, and Braginski finally starts moving again inside him and he's __so close__ -  
  
"When I tell them I'll kill them, they know I mean every word," he whispers in Eduard's ear as he jacks him off. "Because they've seen me do it before."  
  
\- and he comes with a loud moan all over Braginski's hand.  
  
When he opens his eyes he finds Berwald blushing and Willem's face a wry smirk. Willem gives them slow, sarcastic applause.  
  
Braginski is out of breath. "Aah, I am not so young anymore. Okay, now it's dinner time. Soon, maybe. You want an extra helping tonight? You deserved it."  
  
Eduard, his back to the door, slides down the bars to the floor, utterly destroyed and fighting for air in the aftershocks of one of the more intense orgasms he's ever had.  
  
"What are you doing on the floor like that, it's drafty, you could catch a cold. Your bed is over there," says Braginski, pointing to the lower bunk under his own bed.  
  
His __bed!__  
  
__Why didn't I think of this earlier?__ he wonders, and gets to his feet. He uses the toilet first to clean himself off and then collapses on the mattress.  
  
Someone above him clears their throat. "Uh, did ... __we__ say he could have the bed?" Willem sounds pissed.  
  
" _ _I__ said so," says Braginski. He climbs up to his bed above Eduard's and calls from the top bunk, "End of story!"  
  
Eduard is prepared to float away on euphoria, content to let those three duke it out, until they bring him back into it.  
  
"Y'already said y'd let __me__ have more'f I protect'd you," Berwald notes.  
  
"Yeah, he said the same thing to me," Willem argues.  
  
"Well you're both wrong," says Braginski, "I think we have established who owns what, have we not?"  
  
"Says who?" asks Berwald, indignant.  
  
"Says me!"  
  
"Says you nothin'! An' __you__ c'n have anyone y'want. He already offered t'me."  
  
"Oh, he offered? Voluntarily?" Braginski tuts. "I find this hard to believe."  
  
"He was pretty fuckin' voluntary about it when he rode me like a slut," Willem adds.  
  
They all look at Eduard.  
  
At this point, Eduard is too well-fucked to get scared or nervous - because what will these men do to him, fuck him more? (Such a thought makes his cock twitch, and the shame that follows up makes him blush.) And anyway, three men fighting over him? This is so absurd it hardly registers as dangerous in his mind.  
  
Besides, there's an obvious solution.  
  
(With one small, minor sacrifice on his part. Which he'll deal with later.)  
  
"I could belong to all of you," he suggests.  
  
Braginski's head appears, upside-down from the top bunk. "Hey, that's not fair!"  
  
"It's perfectly fair," he argues.  
  
"But I won! Right now, that was winning!"  
  
"That was __somethin'__ ," Berwald mutters.  
  
"Look," says Eduard. "After that little episode, the entire wing is going to want to start shit. I want none of that. You've seen me, I can't even defend against one of you let alone a whole wing! So I propose the following: you three protect me, in exchange for -" (he takes a deep breath. No, he'll deal with this later!) - "in exchange for me. I submit. Whatever you want."  
  
"I do like the sound of whatever," chirps Braginski.  
  
Eduard's not so keen on that smile. "Like I said, within prison rules and my own health concerns."  
  
Willem folds his arms over his chest. "Why're we paying when we got it for free before?"  
  
"Th-that wasn't for free!" Eduard says. "Nobody does things for free here. I did something for you, you did something for me. Same thing here, no change!" Willem remains unconvinced. "Then call it an investment in me not being stabbed. Or beat up. Or ra-... repossessed. Don't you get more of what you want when I'm not nursing wounds in this prison's shitty hospital?"  
  
"It __is__ shitty," Berwald agrees.  
  
"Then?"  
  
Braginski sighs. "Yes, I suppose."  
  
"Some'f us need t' learn to __share__ ," Berwald says.  
  
"Some of us need to learn to be better in the sack," Willem retorts. "Not my fault he prefers my cock."  
  
"Hmm, I saw a great deal of preferring just now," remarks Braginski.  
  
Before the other two can get angry about it Eduard throws up his hands. "I'm not saying anything one way or another! As far as I'm concerned, it'll be three ways, equally. Yes? Equal. We play nice." The door to the end of the hall opens which means it's either a 'routine' guard making his rounds or dinner being served. "And speaking of nice, can I maybe sleep on the goddamn bed from now on?"  
  
"Told you, his bed," says Braginski.  
  
"Told you, he's mouthy," Willem snaps.  
  
"Ev'rybody shut th' hell up," Berwald warns. "'m tryin' t'read."  
  
"Because you've been concentrating __so hard__ on that book," Eduard says.  
  
Willem smirks, and Braginski chuckles. Berwald goes bright red. Eduard will probably pay for that later, but in the meantime, he stretches out on the bed and, for the first time in days, relaxes.


	6. Chapter 6

When lockdown finally ends, Willem is the first one out. He seems to get stir crazy the easiest. Braginski is calm and content to do quiet things during lockdown, and doesn't escape with Willem's haste. As for Berwald, he occupies much of his time by himself.  
  
Still, Eduard has to admit, it would be nice to go for a walk, stretch his legs. He looks at the door with some longing.  
  
But if he didn't feel comfortable enough to pace back and forth in his cell, he sure as hell doesn't feel comfortable enough to go around alone outside.  
  
"I'll take ya, if y'want," Berwald offers. He lumbers down the ladder to his bed, his book in hand.  
  
"Of course!" sneers Braginski. "Please, take him for a walk, he needs his exercise! Now, mind you leash him at all times, you don't want bitches running wild."  
  
"'S enough'f that," Berwald says.  
  
Braginski pretends he hasn't heard, but doesn't say anything else.  
  
"Well, 're y'comin' or not? Show'r 'n shave priv'leges in an hour. Y'won't get more fer three days."  
  
Eduard, supposing that's the closest thing to an invitation he's going to get, hops to it.  
  
If it seems like all the eyes are on him, it's because they are. And the eyes aren't enough, the men have to grin and leer and smile knowingly, and they whisper things that he just overhears...  
  
"Bitch be riding!"  
  
"Sick little fuck loves it I bet!"  
  
Berwald puts an arm around his shoulders and tucks him in close, and a few of the other inmates take the hint. The ones that don't, Berwald sends a nasty glare to, and then they scatter. Eduard feels better already, just having him there, warm and solid and large. He's made the right choice.  
  
(The only choice he _could_ make. And the service doesn't come for free.)  
  
There isn't much to do. Eduard doesn't want to spend money on the vending machines. Although it's a nice day, their wing isn't allowed into the rec yard because it's another wing's scheduled rec time. Eduard and Berwald pass a window and he peers outside - there's nobody he recognises.  
  
Except for Braginski, who has left their cell for what little freedom they're afforded today. He is chatting jovially with a group of large, terrifying-looking men.  
  
Eduard has no idea how Braginski managed to get past the guards into the rec yard. But that's not his problem, and he gains nothing by becoming an informant.  
  
There is a library, though, and they're even permitted to browse the stacks, although there's not much in the way of selection. Berwald has brought back the book he had to take out another. "What's that one about?" Eduard asks.  
  
Berwald shrugs.  
  
"You don't care?"  
  
"Doesn't matt'r. 'S more int'restin' than this place."  
  
He can't deny that. Eduard selects a book himself at random. It's a Captain America comic book, which makes him laugh at the mere prospect of such a thing being _on the inside_. But when he tries to select another, he finds that his other choices are pulp romance, the third Harry Potter book (which he's already read), the Silmarillion (which he's also already read) and a self-help manual.  
  
_This is why bookworms don't go to jail_ , he thinks.  
  
He glances over at what Berwald took. It's about 17th century Dutch art.  
  
"It'll annoy Will'm," Berwald says, and Eduard snorts.  
  
There's still time before their second lockdown after they drop their books off, so Eduard meekly asks if they can drop by the showers. (Berwald doesn't need one but he wasn't the one up against the bars.) What this statement really is, is permission for Berwald to escort him to the shower. Like a child.  
  
Berwald, luckily, picks up on that, and instead of saying something snotty like _I dunno,_ can _you?_ he is tactful and they head off without another word.  
  
And not one word is spoken in the showers, just like hardly a word is spoken between them as they walk through the halls.  
  
Although...  
  
Berwald's eyes are on him all the time. As Eduard rinses himself off, as he washes his hair, as he rubs soap into his skin. They track every motion of his muscles with eager greed and follow the path of water dripping off his bare skin.  
  
It's a little unnerving.  
  
They aren't alone for long. Others come in and start muttering sly things about Eduard's 'performance' a day ago. Berwald clears his throat and they shut the hell up.  
  
That endears Berwald to him, it lessens the creepy factor of his not-so-covert ogling of Eduard's body. It seems Berwald is true to his word.  
  
Of course, that means that Eduard must be true to _his_ word. It hits him in the gut and he begins to panic.  
  
'Things could be different', isn't that what he said? The implied meaning being, _maybe I'll let you. Maybe I'll hand myself over. Maybe I'll do it with a sigh and a moan and_ \- oh god, what has become of him?!  
  
He forces himself calm.  
  
He has to be mature about this, he has everything he needs not to make this completely awful. He hasn't got any other options! If he can only take some control...  
  
Judging from the way Berwald is watching him touch himself in the shower - incidentally, so he can rinse himself, brush the soap off his arms, off his chest and sides, there is nothing sexual about this - and the fact that Berwald is already half-hard, he might let Eduard have a lot of control.  
  
They return to their cell. "Thank fuckin' god," Berwald says.  
  
"What?" asks Eduard.  
  
"They both left. 'S good. I don't like an audience." He nods to the top bunk and says, "G'wan."  
  
( _How terribly romantic_ , Eduard thinks dryly. He's smart enough to keep his big mouth shut, this time.)  
  
Eduard should make good on what he promised.  
  
He breathes deeply through his nose to stave off the fear. He has something to make it less painful. If they take their time and he preps right, it won't be so bad, will it? The past few hours have been almost pleasant. Berwald protected him, he didn't make a scene in the showers (he _could've_ , it certainly looked like he wanted to bad enough), he hasn't been antagonising him or anything, so he has no reason to want to harm him.  
  
"Just a sec," and he fetches the lube he traded earlier. He tosses it up to Berwald's bed. Berwald looks confused. "Trust me," he says.  
  
"I know what it's _for_ ," Berwald snaps. "Was wonderin' where th' hell y'got it."  
  
Eduard is in the middle of unbuttoning his ugly orange jumpsuit. "Trust me," he says again, with a slow smile, as he unclips the belt around his waist.  
  
He's trying to be alluring and flirtatious and feeling really stupid about it. How it works, he'll never know, but Berwald practically chases him up the ladder and pounces on him the second his ass hits the sheets.  
  
It's much easier with the lube, although he still isn't aroused when stretching himself. He wonders whether he should bother with trying to put on a show - Berwald is already breathing heavily, trying not to show it and failing.  
  
He offers the bottle of lube to Berwald, who shakes his head. "I don't need any," he says.  
  
Well, tough! He's not the one getting fucked! " _I_ do," Eduard retorts, and squeezes out a healthy amount. Before Berwald has a chance to react, he's taken his hand, slathered in slick, and wrapped it around his cellmate's cock.  
  
This is a gamble.  
  
He could be beaten for this. What if Berwald is only doing these things because there are no women? What if he considers Eduard's touching him so intimately a step too far? What if Eduard provokes his rage by having him enjoy this, any more than he should because _it's the best you can get on the inside?_  
  
And yet, there's something about the way Berwald looks at him, watches him when he thinks Eduard isn't looking, which makes him formulate a hypothesis. This is testing that hypothesis, and from the looks of it - Berwald sighs, closes his eyes, and lets himself fuck Eduard's hand - it's got some support. Berwald wants this. He wants this a lot. And either he's too lonely or pent up to care that Eduard is still male, or he _enjoys_ that aspect.  
  
When Berwald pushes himself in with a grunt, it's uncomfortable, but not as bad or as painful as it was the first time. He's large, but the lube goes a long way to helping him in. Eduard tries to relax and unclench. Berwald backs up and thrusts in again.  
  
This isn't so bad. He can handle this.  
  
Eduard exhales a long held breath of relief. Berwald misinterprets it as arousal and groans. _He likes hearing his bitches get off_ , Eduard thinks wryly.  
  
Then if Eduard has to look like he's enjoying himself, he needs to do more than lie back and take it. He tries touching himself. Once Berwald feels him doing that, he doesn't lean quite so heavily on Eduard's chest and props himself up above him. First his elbows, then he lifts himself up by his hands, on the bed nestled either side of Eduard's shoulders.  
  
This is a much better angle. He rocks his hips back to meet Berwald halfway. He feels dumber still, trying to sit down on something that's impaling him, wriggling his body like this, but it makes Berwald pant and gasp so he must be doing something that Berwald wants.  
  
What the hell does he do with his legs?! When they began he had them propped up around Berwald, resting on his hips. Spreading them makes it easier for Berwald to move, but they're still just sort of _there_ , dangling in the air! He must look foolish. It breaks his concentration.  
  
It turns out he winds up ignoring where his limbs go and how stupid he looks once things begin to get heated.  
  
With one thrust in the right spot, he ignites. He whispers a moan, his cheeks warm. Berwald hears it and whispers back, "Yeah, 's right, _fuck,_ " and slides in again.  
  
" _Aah_ ," he sighs. Berwald has gotten the idea and sinks in again deep. It makes him arch off the bed. _Just a little more to the left - but now we're getting somewhere_ , he thinks, with his hand on his cock and his thighs spread wide to encourage Berwald. With his other hand he grips the side bed rail, to better angle himself, shoving himself back against Berwald and onto his cock.  
  
Eduard becomes so focussed on that sensation, greedy for more, that it takes a second to realise Berwald has stopped moving. _Right as things were getting good,_ he thinks, slightly annoyed.  
  
He opens his eyes and tries to calm his racing heart.  
  
"Th' fuck do _you_ want," Berwald asks, still inside him.  
  
"What, a guy can't be in his own damn cell?" asks Willem. Eduard props himself up on his elbows and Willem gives him a sly wink and a filthy smirk. "Please, don't feel you've got to stop on my account."  
  
"Get th' fuck out, Will'm," Berwald says.  
  
"Mmm, no can do. Almost lockdown - got about another hour or two. Unlike our Russian friend, some of us want good behaviour in here." He looks at Eduard again and leers. "Lookit _you!_ So glad to see you agree on the topic of being _well-behaved_."  
  
There's nothing like that tone to make him hyperaware of the large, hard cock in his ass. Eduard blushes and shrinks into the bed, hiding from Willem's sight behind Berwald's forearm.  
  
"Privacy. Now," Berwald barks.  
  
With a shrug, Willem says, "I don't think so. Besides, there's no such thing's privacy in a place like this. Turnout bitch had better get used to it, everybody's gonna see him on his back with his legs in the air -"  
  
"Th' privacy's fer _me_ , idiot, an' if y'don't get th' fuck outta here I'll come down there n' shove you out, an' if y'haven't noticed 'm kinda busy, an' I don't like t' be disturb'd."  
  
"You're not doing shit I ain't seen before," Willem mutters.  
  
"Last fuckin' warnin', asshole," Berwald snaps.  
  
"Kicked out of my own cell," Willem rolls his eyes. "Pathetic!"  
  
But he does leave. He bangs his fist against the bars as he stalks off in a huff.  
  
"'S fine," Berwald mutters.  
  
Eduard cracks a grin. "Thanks."  
  
"Didn't do it fer you."  
  
"Well thanks anyway," Eduard says. Then shyly he murmurs, "Don't stop."  
  
They're here now, might as well give him what he wants, so he won't have to do this again so soon.  
  
Berwald reacts with a jolt, remembering all of a sudden where he is (inside Eduard, deep, pushed up to the hips), and groans like he's entered him all over again. It seems to take him by surprise, and he swoops in, bending Eduard nearly in half, to mash his mouth against Eduard's.  
  
He's _kissing_ him.  
  
Passionately.  
  
This is new.  
  
Eduard doesn't know what to do. Does he kiss back, does he touch Berwald? Like, on his chest, or his arms - is _that_ what he wants? He lies passive for a second with Berwald's tongue in his mouth, sweeping over his own. Berwald cups his cheek and angles his face to better fit them together.  
  
Their glasses clack and Berwald's frames shove the nosepad on Eduard's into the corner of his eye. He whimpers into Berwald's mouth.  
  
Berwald stops and backs up, whispering, "Sorry." He rips his frames off his face and throws them on the bed. He pushes Eduard's up his forehead, into his hair, and then kisses him deeply again.  
  
And then thrusts in with a pained moan against his lips, his hips jerking to shove his cock in deeper and faster.  
  
It's not bad. There's no room for Eduard to touch himself but -  
  
Berwald hits his prostate entirely by accident, synchronised with their lips rubbing together, his tongue stroking Eduard's. He gasps the air from Berwald's mouth.  
  
\- it's _really_ not bad. It's kind of good. Awkward and weird and reminds him too much of Katya's kissing style to be comfortable, but it's not bad at all.  
  
Well, if this is what he wants ...  
  
Then that makes Berwald the easiest to read, so far. He seems to want something that's as close to consensual, even loving, as he can get in here. He doesn't know how to make it a rough and impersonal assault. That makes him the only one who isn't doing this for power.  
  
Make no mistake - Berwald slams into him and he sucks in a breath quickly through his nose - this is not entirely consensual, because Eduard can't resist, has no ability to, has no choice. He reminds himself of this. It doesn't matter what his body says, how the brush of Berwald's balls against the curve of his ass every time he slams in hard reminds him what a slut he is to barter himself away like this. It doesn't matter how the thought of that makes Eduard shiver. It doesn't matter how Berwald's kisses make him dizzy and his heart is pounding ten times harder than it ever did from fear. It doesn't matter how hard he is or that his cock slides against Berwald's stomach with every thrust or that the lack of firm sensation is driving him mad.  
  
It doesn't matter. He's pursuing the only avenue that was offered him and he's making the best of it and he wouldn't've sought this out if it hadn't been for the sake of necessity. He _wouldn't've!_  
  
Weirdest assault he's ever experienced - Berwald's arms around him, his lips on Eduard's. Berwald kisses like a man starving for affection and holds him tightly like a man desperate for contact. He arches into the kiss, into Eduard, like he wants to melt them together.  
  
He feels bad for Berwald. Lonely, solitary man with an evidently strong desire and great capacity for warmth but few outlets for it. Intelligent, but not enough to have kept out of jail. He seems almost innocent.  
  
Eduard can do this for him, if he'll do stuff for Eduard.  
  
Or... there's another option.  
  
Give Berwald exactly what he wants, until the poor man thinks it's real, and then use that to his advantage.  
  
That's cruel.  
  
But Berwald did pressure him into this. And even if he wasn't the main instigator, he sat back and did nothing but watch as Eduard was sexually assaulted in front of easily fifty men with more listening in down the hall.  
  
That's also cruel.  
  
He wraps his arms around Berwald's shoulders and holds him close, and at last kisses back.  
  
Berwald whispers something that sounds like _mine_ against Eduard's lips before he opens them again with his tongue. He's disturbingly good with his mouth, Eduard finds. Eduard remembers afternoons spent with Katya, lazily kissing in bed - he misses being held, being kissed to within an inch of his life - he pushes back against Berwald's thrusts, partly because he knows it's what Berwald wants and partly because he feels good, he feels _amazing_. He spreads his legs so Berwald gets more in that way and - _ahh, yes!_ -  
  
No, it's not so bad, is it? But figuring out how to complement his increasingly jerky motions from this angle is awkward.  
  
As is the feeling of having to put on a show, acting like he enjoys this.  
  
"Yes," he gasps, between kisses, "oh, _please_ , ah, _there_." Now he's a whore _and_ a porn star.  
  
Berwald drinks it up. Too aroused to be defensive any longer, he slides his hands everywhere, his touch careful and light, and gentle, unbelievably gentle. Up Eduard's sides, on his hips, down the flank of his thighs. And he can't stay away from Eduard's mouth for more than two seconds, pausing only to kiss his neck or his jaw or anywhere he can get. It's arousing, having someone want you that much.  
  
And he follows directions. Eduard says _there_ , and _please_ , and Berwald hits it again, and again, until the gasps Eduard has been acting are real and his cheeks are on fire and he feels like he'll explode. He reaches up and grabs Berwald by the back of the neck, and pulls him in for a kiss that starts out deep and ends with his head spinning and his lips tingling because Berwald doesn't stop his wandering hands and presses close to Eduard, caressing his shoulders, cupping his face, sliding his wide, warm hands across his body, from his chest to his hips.  
  
The fact remains, that nobody (not even his wife) has ever kissed him like this, like they're dying, like he is their one salvation.  
  
And it doesn't take Eduard long to come after he realises that.  
  
Fortunately, Braginski returns _after_ all this - after Eduard has left Berwald's bunk, cleaned himself up, redressed and is on his bed reading Captain America. Berwald, it seems, is not much on cuddling, or has used up all his willingness to expose his vulnerabilities through kisses.  
  
Unfortunately, Braginski still knows exactly what they did.  
  
He enters the cell, sniffs the air and laughs. "So you had yours again!" he crows. "You don't waste much time, do you?"  
  
Berwald doesn't answer.  
  
"I am talking to you," Braginski reminds.  
  
"'M aware 'f that," Berwald flatly replies. He goes back to his book, intending to ignore everything Braginski says.  
  
Braginski deflates like a child who's had a toy taken away from him. "Well I do hope you enjoyed," he says with a sulk. And then he turns to Eduard, because he knows Eduard will give him a rise (because unlike Berwald, Eduard is meek - Eduard is quiet, Eduard wants to not be bothered more than he cares about conflict and can't so easily stand up for himself). "What did he give you for it? I want to know the going rate these days, since it seems I have to share. Speak!"  
  
"It's nice to have a shower where nobody bothers you," admits Eduard.  
  
Braginski laughs. "You are so easy! I thought I would have to give you much but it turns out that the price is so low."  
  
Berwald growls. Braginski pays him little attention and continues. "Maybe you just give him free things, you like his cock more," he guesses. "That's how you're so cheap. Well, we'll see about that!"  
  
"Can you maybe leave?" Berwald asks. "Nobody wants y'here."  
  
"I don't see why I should," says Braginski. "This is my home too. And my ... _business_ , as it were, has happily concluded. I'm sure you noticed how I was gone so often these past few weeks. I'm sure you missed me! But don't worry, now I can spend much more time with my good friends! We will all be very good friends, yes?"  
  
He stares at Eduard with a smile that grows slowly more and more terrifying. "Some of us - why, some of us shall be very, _very_ good friends. Friends who play games with each other, yes?"  
  
Eduard blushes.  
  
"You are wrong. I think _somebody_ wants me here," Braginski says, but Willem returns, with the guards, as lockdown begins again, and Braginski's speech becomes clipped and vague. "Good. I have _such grand ideas_ for games."  
  


* * *

  
Second lockdown is uneventful until Willem gets stir crazy.  
  
Eduard is absorbed in Captain America. Apparently Willem says something like _I want a blowjob_ but Eduard, in the middle of one of the less mediocre stories detailing the Captain's adventures in the second World War, doesn't hear him.  
  
He hears much better when he's yanked off the bottom bunk by the pant leg and dragged across the floor.  
  
The men from across the hall - the cells with the best view - get excited and start their previous antics. Shouting, leering, banging on the bars. Eduard looks up to Willem, above him, his expression no-nonsense and spiteful.  
  
Willem pays the other men little mind and unbuttons the jumpsuit south of his belt. The rest of it, he leaves done up. He must not be wearing underwear because his cock springs out with little restraint. "I said, I want a blowjob," he states, pointing to his erection. "You hard of hearing?"  
  
How he can be so erect already - does he get off on Eduard's humiliation? Eduard pulls himself to his knees as Willem perches on the edge of his bed, his legs spread as wide as his orange jumpsuit permits, cock jutting out unpleasantly amid all the orange.  
  
"Well, get to it! I haven't got all day," he says.  
  
"That's where you're wrong!" pipes up Braginski. "We have another six hours and forty minutes of each other's company. Eduard, don't feel you must rush! I like a tease myself."  
  
"Nobody asked you, Ivan," snorts Willem.  
  
He notices Eduard still hasn't moved any closer so he growls, "Fuckin' get to it! _Jesus_ ," puts a hand on the back of Eduard's head and pulls him by the hair to his cock, face-first.  
  
It smears wet across his cheek, hard and warm and smelling of stale sweat. With his other hand, Willem holds his mouth open by the chin and shoves himself inside, sliding down Eduard's tongue.  
  
" _Suck,_ goddamn, what're you good for, fuck's sake," Willem hisses.  
  
"And nice an' hard!" someone yells from the hall.  
  
"Kid likes it hard," agrees someone else.  
  
Eduard whimpers, fighting off gagging around his cellmate's cock, wondering again why he has to do these things and why Berwald or Braginski can't just protect him like they said they would -  
  
"Remember, bitch, y'don't get shit if I don't first," Willem reminds. He taps Eduard on the cheek, more a patronising warning than a slap.  
  
Right. Because Willem is also - theoretically - one of his protectors. In exchange for services provided.  
  
He sighs, more to himself, closes his eyes and begins fellating as best as he knows how, pulling out the tricks Katya used to use on him, ignoring the way his jaw aches in minutes and the way the mens' eyes, glassily spellbound by him on his knees, make him feel like he's nothing, less than nothing, only fit for someone to fuck his face. Just like they're saying, just what they yell at him.  
  
Willem grunts and holds him by the cheek and the skull, keeping him in place. He isn't too rough - he doesn't thrust in more than Eduard can allow without gagging. In fact he doesn't thrust much at all, truth to say, he barely moves his hips back and forth.  
  
So Eduard concentrates his efforts on the tip, figuring that's probably what Willem wants, licking around the crown, sliding his tongue beneath the foreskin and amplifying the suction to the glans as much as he can.  
  
Willem groans and leans back. "Ungh, _fuck_ , yes," he slurs throatily. "Just like that, s'good."  
  
"Good at his job," sneers someone from another cell, but the voice is less mocking and more envious. _They_ wish _they could_ , he thinks with glee.Willem hears it too. "Yeah, an' right now his job is _me_ so you assholes can look but don't you dare fucking touch, because if I ever catch you I swear to fuckin' Christ..."  
  
He trails off as a warning. There's some disgruntled murmuring Eduard overhears.  
  
Satisfied, and with a smile he hopes Willem can't feel, he rewards Willem with a deeper reach, grabs him by the base of his cock to hold him and tries to jack off what he can't fit into his mouth. "Fuck, yes, oh _fuck_ ," Willem pants.  
  
His jaw doesn't ache quite so much when he's concentrating on the pleasure. Yes, not his, true, but Willem's gratifyingly appreciative, the same way Katya was, and he enjoyed giving her pleasure, watching how she squirmed -  
  
\- he isn't exactly hating this. With dismay he realises every time Willem sighs and groans it makes him flush hot in his cheeks and his pulse races as the uncomfortable feeling of unwanted arousal pools in his groin.  
  
Willem's movements are predictable. Smaller learning curve - he already knows how to do this decently well because after all, he has one too. And it's a lot less messy than eating out a girl was.  
  
Lots of perfectly logical reasons why this arouses him!  
  
"Fuckin' perfect little cocksucking mouth," Willem gasps, his legs trembling. Eduard goes from half to fully erect.  
  
That's the only illogical part, really... How much the shame and humiliation spurs him on.  
  
When Willem comes in his mouth he swallows it all without being prompted. " _Shit_ ," Willem says, "that's - uh. You didn't have to."  
  
"Oh but he did! That's what come-guzzling cocksuckers are for," says Braginski cheerfully. "I taught him well in that regard, so you can thank me."  
  
"Yeah, here's my fuckin' thanks." Willem flips Braginski the bird.  
  
"That was pathetic, by the way. I counted thirty seconds."  
  
"It was not fucking thirty seconds," retorts Willem. (Privately, Eduard agrees.)  
  
"I guess you like his mouth so much you blow a load in half the time you usually take! Well. Understand, bitch, that next time I require your services, I will not be so efficient. You'd better get used to taking your time -"  
  
"Can you fucking shut up already? God, asshole. Can't even let me enjoy a good thing."  
  
Braginski shuts up, with his trademark 'holding my tongue' smile. It's a very superior smile.  
  
"Another fucking six hours. Jesus fucking Christ," Willem mutters.  
  
Once safe in his own bed again, he notices - over the edge of Captain America - that Willem's hands shake terribly when he isn't busy using them to control Eduard's head on his cock.  
  
He starts to see how lockdown is a punishment for some. Five out of seven days of relative freedom... two days spent locked up.  
  
Eduard is beginning to feel bed sore and bored himself.  
  


* * *

  
After lockdown ends, they get dinner in the cafeteria, and dinner's where it starts to all look up.  
  
On one hand, Eduard knows it's going to be the same old tasteless sludge they always have, and the best thing he can say about it, is that it will wash the sour taste of come out of his mouth.  
  
On the other hand...  
  
He's surrounded aft and fore by his cellmates when they are marched cell by cell to the cafeteria. He doesn't even have to ask them to, they slide into formation without a word and surround him. If anybody makes a joke about them, he doesn't hear it.  
  
"This way," Braginski says when they enter, with a warm hand low on Eduard's back, steering him, gentle and almost gentlemanly. "There is a table this way which I consider mine."  
  
"And the others?"  
  
"They'll join. They get food first, then when they've come back to guard the table, we'll get ours. Until the rest have understood you belong to us, we should not let you alone."  
  
Eduard must look surprised because Braginski continues, "Well, you have fulfilled your part of the bargain. There may be no honour among thieves but none of us are here for larceny."  
  
"What... __are__ you here for?" Eduard asks. But Braginski only smiles.  
  
Berwald and Willem return with what looks like a stew and a little bun each. "Come along," Braginski says calmly.  
  
Eduard cannot reconcile the calm, gentle giant - who walks with him (a little too closely for personal space, but in here with people watching and waiting to get their hands on him, too close is never close enough for his liking), who hands him a meal tray, who extends a hand in an, 'after you' gesture with a polite smile and sticks by his side - with the same person who launched him into the bars of his cell, stripped him past the waist, bent him over and fucked him ruthlessly. The same person who put him on his knees in the shower and forced him to perform oral sex... and then helped him back upon his feet.  
  
This is why he can't think of him as Ivan - much less anything else, he can't believe that people call him Vanya, and that he __lets__ them. It's also likely a clue as to why Braginski's in here.  
  
Maybe it doesn't matter what Braginski did. He did his crime, he's paying for it. He's a good bodyguard. That's all Eduard need care about. The criminal psychology can be ignored. Can't it? Braginski's, although Sadik and Braginski are frosty with one another. Sadik says jovially, "This must be the new kid," and reaches over to fluff Eduard's hair.  
  
Instantly Berwald and Braginski move in closer, tucking him against them and pressing their bodies into his sides, and Willem knocks Sadik's hand away.  
  
"Geez, what, is his hair off-limits?"  
  
"Every last square inch of his body is off-limits until I say it is not!" Braginski helpfully declares.  
  
Sadik pouts. "I was just havin' a bit of fun -"  
  
"Well find your own bitch to have your own fun," Willem snaps. "This one's mine."  
  
"'N mine," adds Berwald.  
  
"And mine!" echoes Braginski.  
  
Sadik barks a laugh. "I don't envy you, Eddie," he says, and lumbers off.  
  
At Eduard's scowl, Berwald asks, "Got too close? I can take care 'f him -"  
  
"It's nothing," Eduard says with a grin. "I never liked being called 'Eddie'."  
  
But my, how he __loves__ being protected!  
  
His heart flutters, watching these giant men fight over him and cover him from the bad, the worse and the ugly with a SWAT team's organisation. He feels so happy. Is it the euphoria of madness talking?  
  
Or is it the power? He has hardly any himself but sometimes it seems he does have a kind of power over someone like Berwald and maybe even Willem, because they'll do things for him (at the expense of his ass, okay, but ... it's not like he doesn't find a way to enjoy himself sometimes). Braginski - well. Braginski's a mystery.  
  
But it's not really the power, either. He likes being taken care of. He __really__ likes being taken care of. He always has, he always craved it, that's why Katya and he were such a good fit for one another, she liked mothering, and he couldn't lie about liking being mothered.  
  
The stew features some kind of meat-like item that might've once been beef. The broth is thick and warming, even if it's too salty and the noodles are overlooked and limp and the canned green beans are steamed so thoroughly they have no flavour left. Eduard eats it anyway, but picks out the gray-green cubes of maybe-beef. Braginski leans over him to swipe them off his plate.  
  
He smells faintly like bread. Eduard can't figure out why, but it's a lovely scent and he finds himself so comfortable where he is that he lets Braginski press himself against his side and steal his food.  
  
For the first time in two weeks he goes to bed happy. Yes, it's not home; yes, it's not ideal; headcounts and lockdowns remind him that he is being punished, that he has been judged by an impartial group of his peers of guilt for committing extreme amounts of fraud.  
  
Katya must be home, warm and safe and happy, with dinner that tastes far better than his did. And he thinks of her and wonders whether she's alright (probably), whether her mother has stopped badtalking him yet (probably not), whether she's believing the things her mother is saying (likely) and whether she's finally applying for divorce after years of casual married strife between them have come to a conclusion with his incarceration (almost certainly, he expects the papers any day now).  
  
And then he thinks of the reason he did this, because his startup was going under and things were getting tight and she worked so hard to give him everything, could he give her nothing in return?  
  
But if she leaves... she'll never find where he put the money. That money that he lied to the judge about, and said he didn't have. Under a name only he knows.  
  
And he'll never need to work another day in his life!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For foreign words, mouseover for the translation.

They are permitted use of the rec yard the next day. Eduard is unsurprised to see Braginski there, even if he technically got his rec time between lockdowns.  
  
He runs for a half hour, which feels more like fifty minutes, and then, although he's exhausted, lifts with Berwald and Willem too.  
  
Braginski, it appears, has to be goaded into it.  
  
He stands near them, indifferent, watching Berwald benchpress. Even if he's not impressed, Eduard is - that's a gigantic-looking barbell. "Why would I bother with such nonsense," says Braginski.  
  
"Then don't 'n take a hike," grunts Berwald through his teeth.  
  
Braginski ignores him. "What is that, 25 kilo?" he asks Eduard, who's trying to do his biceps curls in peace, which is apparently too much to ask for.  
  
With a blush, Eduard nods, admitting, "I haven't been doing this long."  
  
Braginski takes the barbell from him with one hand. "You can handle another ten," he insists. Eduard watches in mild horror as Braginski brings the 25 kg weight back to the stand and plucks the 35 kg set off it instead. He hands it to Eduard with a happy smile.  
  
"No," Eduard protests.  
  
"You'll do it if I tell you," Braginski states firmly, "you do anything I tell you, remember? Anything at all." His tone makes Eduard shiver, and he doesn't like the look of Braginski's smile, so he takes the weight, even though lifting it hurts and his form is much worse.  
  
He hears a cackle from beyond Braginski's body, which blocks out most of his view. "Now that's just sad." The white-haired probably-a-skinhead jerk pops up from behind him with a nasty sneer.  
  
"It is, isn't it," remarks Braginski casually, with the heavy sigh of a disappointed father. "I shall have to whip him into shape."  
  
"Lay off, assholes, he's fine as he is," Willem argues.  
  
"Maybe you like a fatass but I don't. No bitch of mine will be some sedentary bookworm. I can't believe you took him to the library for your first date. And _you_ , he won't get enough exercise with you since you barely make it five minutes without blowing your load!"  
  
Willem shuts up.  
  
Satisfied, Braginski sits down behind Eduard on the bench. "You can see he's got hardly anything here," he says to the white-haired man. He gives Eduard's biceps a hard pinch.  
  
"Hey!" he complains.  
  
"See? How sad," Braginski continues. "Put that down, Eddie."  
  
Now he _knows_ Braginski's trying to get to him.  
  
He allows himself a scowl, but does as he's told without a word. What more can he do? Braginski is uncomfortably warm, right behind him.  
  
The white-haired fellow asks, "You're not gonna introduce me?"  
  
Braginski more or less ignores him and continues talking to Eduard. "But you know, you continue working hard and you too can be strong enough to defend yourself against assholes like Beilschmidt here."  
  
He's startled when Braginski undoes the first few buttons on his jumpsuit and yanks down the sleeve of the jumpsuit and his undershirts as one, to expose his shoulder. "Soft skin though," Braginski says, "like a girl." Braginski cups his shoulder; brushes his thumb back and forth. "Please try to make sure that doesn't change."  
  
Eduard has no real choice but to sit there and let him do it, feeling like he's never been more aware of Braginski's warmth at his back and people's eyes on him, than right at this moment, with Braginski feeling him up in public.  
  
As predicted, Beilschmidt walks up to him and leans over. Before he gets too close, however, Braginski has grabbed him by the neck of his jumpsuit and thrown him off balance, and he falls back on his ass. Braginski does this all without taking his hands off Eduard. His touch remains gentle and constant on Eduard's pale, bony shoulder even as he's violently throwing Beilschmidt aside. "Did I _say_ you could touch?"  
  
"I-it was heavily implied!" Beilschmidt protests. "You went and treat him like he's a thing!"  
  
Braginski grins. "But he's _my_ thing. And you can't touch what's mine until I say so, but thank you for indulging me in such a reminder."  
  
Then he pats Eduard on the shoulder, kisses it delicately, gets off the bench, and walks off with a slightly ruffled Beilschmidt.  
  
They're... _friends?_  
  
If this is how Braginski treats his friends, Eduard would hate to see what he does to the enemies.  
  
He looks at Berwald in utter perplexion, hoping he'll elucidate.  
  
Berwald says nothing.  
  
"I don't get it," says Eduard, when Braginski and Beilschmidt are safely out of earshot and he has buttoned his jumpsuit back up. "How are you two so normal and he's so weird?"  
  
Willem snorts derisively. Berwald cracks a grin, which, for Berwald, means he's laughing on the inside.  
  
_It's a game,_ he realises. This kind of shit is what amuses him, what _really_ gets him off. Maybe he doesn't even care about sex, he cares about power, about playing people.  
  
Well, at least Braginski is still doing his part to protect him, like he said he would. Eduard can't read Braginski too well and isn't sure all the time where his interests lie.  
  
As they're walking away from the showers, Braginski catches up to him and follows him back to their cell. It doesn't escape Eduard's notice that Willem and Berwald wisely take different routes. Braginski strikes up a bland conversation. When it peters down to nothingness relatively fast, he seems content to walk side-by-side with a pleasant smile.  
  
_This is still a game_ , Eduard thinks, _it is always a game!_ He expects Braginski to throw him up against the bars and fuck him again. Because after all, it's been a few days - and Berwald and Willem have each had their turns, and it seems like they're trading off. And Braginski is walking awfully closely, like he's forgotten that personal space is something one must be aware of.  
  
But Braginski doesn't make any motions to touch him at all. When they return to their cell, he saunters up the ladder to his bunk to read.  
  
Eduard spies the cover. It's in Russian, and he reads _Four Chimes to New Year's_.  
  
Braginski spots him. "Do you read Russian?" he asks.  
  
"Had to learn it growing up," Eduard says. "Didn't have much choice... It's useful but I don't like speaking it." Braginski cocks an eyebrow. " Ya govoryu c sil'nim aktsentom," he admits.  
  
He narrows his eyes, but smiles. "Is ... that's a Baltic accent," he says. "What are you, Latvian?"  
  
Eduard shakes his head. "Estonian."  
  
Braginski cracks up. "Oh my god," he says between big-bellied laughs, "you're an Estonian!"  
  
"I-it wasn't obvious?" Eduard stammers.  
  
"This explains so much," Braginski says. "No wonder you have no sense of humour!"  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Oh, I'm not speaking too fast for you?" Braginski wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.  
  
Eduard folds his arms across his chest and pouts. "You think you're _so_ funny."  
  
Still, there's no substitute for a good book. "Are those mysteries?" he asks shyly.  
  
"Second in a series. I am done with the first - you want?"  
  
_Yes!_ He really does. He finished the Captain America the day he got it and he's been bored to tears since! "What do you want for it?"  
  
"Hmm," Braginski thinks. He puts down the book and leans over the railing, his eyes narrowed in consideration. "I do like your mouth. Pretty little lips stretched wide by my cock. Nice picture you make."  
  
Eduard tries not to let Braginski's words get to him, but he has a sinking feeling they put a blush on his cheeks anyway. He tries to keep composure. "On my knees?" he asks.  
  
Braginski shakes his head. "I don't think so ... Ah! I know! If I could make a request?"  
  
He resists rolling his eyes. Braginski is so much bigger than he is and so much more powerful. Of course he can make requests! And he's the one granting favours for something Eduard wants. It's Eduard's own fault he expressed interest. That gives Braginski something to use against him. "What is it?"  
  
Braginski gives him a mysterious smile and crooks his finger, beckoning him up.  
  
With some trepidation, a frisson of fear up his spine, he climbs the ladder to Braginski's bed to find his cellmate sitting there. He would look so innocent, catlike stretched over the mattress, with a fey and almost flirty smile, if Eduard didn't know any better. This man _murdered_ someone. And here he is with sparkling eyes, crinkled at the sides!  
  
Braginski leans close, so close that Eduard wonders if he's going to be kissed, but Braginski darts past his lips and murmurs _sotto voce_ , with their noses brushing together, "Take your time. Don't be in such a rush, hm? I like your tongue, use it more."  
  
He watches as Braginski leans back on the bed and undoes the buttons of his jumpsuit lazily, one by one. Eduard has seen him nude before, but it's so much more erotic, watching him expose himself slowly. Braginski notices him watching and gloats, "That's right, see? You too. You like it slow. Taking one's time, it's better, yes?"  
  
He pulls down the waistband of his underwear and brings out his cock, hard and wet at the tip already. Eduard's mouth goes dry at the sight and he can't seem to take his eyes off it. But it's not all that big, is it? He's had it inside him before, it didn't hurt, it made him come so hard he could hardly stand!  
  
"Savour it," says Braginski, and then all of a sudden the more familiar Braginski, the rough one, comes back up and he takes Eduard by the back of the head and pulls him by the hair until Eduard is on all fours and his mouth is inches from Braginski's privates. Half gentle, but with an edge of _do what I tell you._  
  
So he does.  
  
_Savour it_ , he said.  
  
Eduard begins by licking up Braginski's cock in plain stripes, base to tip. He gets adventurous and flicks his tongue against the tip. "That's a good start," says Braginski. "You have a nice tongue on you. I imagine your wife liked that, yes?"  
  
Eduard stops.  
  
"Did I tell you to stop?" Braginski asks.  
  
Reluctantly, Eduard resumes his actions, taking the tip into his mouth and laving the fat head with the tip of his tongue, curling it around the glans.  
  
"Well, what do you expect, you have your ring, which you wear! But also I hear things through the grapevine. You can hold no secrets from me in here," he cheerfully adds. "Get your hand up there, if you can't take it all in at once don't leave half of my cock cold."  
  
What can Eduard do but comply?  
  
"I wonder if you are the type to keep pictures," Braginski says. "I bet you are. You must have one around here somewhere of her. Is she a pretty woman? Hmm?"  
  
_I can't talk like this, with my mouth full,_ he thinks.  
  
"Moan around it," Braginski growls. " _Moan_ around me. Once for yes, twice for no. Moan nice and loud, so everyone can hear you, can hear how much you love to have cock in your mouth."  
  
Braginski directing him like this, being so demanding and exacting, makes him blush, makes him shiver.  
  
He moans once.  
  
"Beautiful, yes?"  
  
He moans again. Of course, Katya's beautiful. He'd really rather not think of Katya right now. Preserve her memory. Thinking of her now, like this, it feels like it taints her.  
  
But the shame of thinking of her makes him tingle more than he's comfortable. He doesn't want to enjoy this. Nobody enjoys being forced to suck cock. He really wishes he weren't already aroused.  
  
"Surprises me, I didn't think anyone like you could get a pretty woman," Braginski drawls. "I would have thought they'd all be put off by what a talented cocksucker you are, hmm? What do you think your wife would say now, looking at you like this. Hm? Do you think she would like seeing her husband on his knees, his ass in the air, begging for it?"  
  
Eduard moans twice, trying not to think of Katya and failing.  
  
"Why, I bet you had such a lovely marriage!" Braginski says it through his teeth.  
  
Jealousy?  
  
He moans twice again.  
  
"No?" Braginski sounds almost disappointed. "It's just as well you discovered your real strengths in here, then. Yes, that's good, more like that. Take it in, draw it out. Let it slide back and forth across your tongue. You love having cock against your tongue, don't you?"  
  
Eduard moans twice.  
  
Braginski chuckles low in his throat. " _Liar_ ," he taunts, and tilts his hips up and down, fucking Eduard's mouth in little motions, using him. "Suck me harder."  
  
He does.  
  
"Hmm, you really want those books, don't you?" Eduard sighs, and moans once again. What is it about Braginski's voice that simultaneously turns him on and makes him want to punch him? And talking about it in this way reminds him of how servile he is - Braginski gives the instructions, he follows them to the letter, leaning over him, his mouth busy between Braginski's legs.  
  
...It's a good thing Eduard has lain down on the bed so that Braginski can't see the effect he has on Eduard. If anyone ever put it together how much humiliation and degradation have become Eduard's hot buttons - and Braginski is precisely the kind of fellow who deals in people's vulnerabilities - he'll be sucking cock and taking it up the ass for the next ten years that he's here.  
  
"Slower now," Braginski says breathily. "That's too fast." He slows down a fraction. "Yes, like that, much better, I want to feel myself slipping wetly in and out of your mouth. In fact, take me out entirely. Pay some attention to the very tip, why don't you? Will you do that for me?"  
  
He moans once. Of course he will.  
  
Eduard tongues under the foreskin, laps up the wet there, tasting of salt and tang. His other hand, he brushes loosely up and down Braginski's cock, jacking him off as he treats the head like a passionate kiss.  
  
"Good," Braginski says, in a whisper sounding suspiciously like a moan. This shouldn't arouse him so much! (- but he always liked it when Katyush' grew mad with pleasure, he likes it when his partners get off, isn't that natural? - but this isn't Katya!) "Nice. Yes. That's good. _Aah_ -" His hips lift uncontrolled, shoving himself deeper into Eduard's mouth. Eduard sucks harder, longer, he bobs his head to follow Braginski's motions as he thrusts. His face must be bright red, he can feel his cheeks burning as he grinds himself into Braginski's mattress.  
  
"Nice and strong, yes, like that," Braginski says, "aah, suck me hard." He puts his hands on Eduard's head and tangles the fingers in his hair, to better position him to fuck his face. "Curl your tongue around me again, I liked that. Moan for me, will you?"  
  
He's so hard, listening to Braginski's filthy directions, he's so hard it hurts. What he wouldn't give for someone to touch him right now - and they could have his ass too if they wanted, he wouldn't even _care_ , just let him come, please, _please_ \- god, where is Willem when he needs him, fuck! - he spreads his thighs more to get better purchase in fucking the mattress deeper -  
  
If Braginski catches him he's dead! He'll never live it down, he'll spend the rest of his sentence serving these men!  
  
But Braginski is too busy, his eyes shut closed, his lips lax and parted as he softly sighs his way to climax.  
  
So Eduard takes the opportunity to indulge. It's just a fantasy. That's all, it doesn't mean he's the bitch they say he is - although what does a bitch do but love to be used, and _how_ he's enjoying this! He manages to get his hand down between his legs, outside his clothes, pinned between him and Braginski's mattress. He's so hot he doesn't need much more than friction anyway. This is so undignified and if he doesn't slow down he'll come in his goddamn jumpsuit and god what a slut he is begging for cocks like this in his mind, moaning openly as Braginski uses his mouth for his own pleasure, as he ruts against the palm of his hand.  
  
With a soft cry, Braginski finishes in his mouth.  
  
And he was so close, too! Braginski finished means he pays more attention to his surroundings.  
  
Eduard swallows and stops grinding against the bed.  
  
Braginski catches his breath and then reaches over to take something from underneath his pillow. "Here, you earned it," he says, giving Eduard the first book.  
  
"Thank you," he replies.  
  
Braginski smiles and turns back to his own. "Enjoy it."  
  
He manages to maneuver himself down the ladder without Braginski seeing the gigantic tent in his jumpsuit by covertly keeping the book in front of his abdomen. Next time he'll have to tuck himself better in his underwear, he's so obvious like this! The second he's off the ladder the book is on his groin. He zips into his bunk and quickly covers himself with a rumpled sheet before he digs in to the book.  
  
Or, pretends to.  
  
He tries to will his stupid erection away but the more he tries to shame it gone - how ashamed he is of having been hard in the first place - the harder he gets. And it's all he can think of!  
  
If only he could just touch himself, he's so desperate...  
  
But Braginski would know it was because he got hard sucking another man off, he can't let that secret out, how much he really loved the shame, the humiliation.  
  
But he can't concentrate on anything, not even his book, the sole reason he went and did any of that, all he can think of is sex and the way his hand burns on his thigh! He has to come, he's so tense, it feels like he'll explode!  
  
Well... what if he were very careful, he wonders, slipping it down between his legs, if he's very quiet nobody will know, very very quiet, and he can't thrust at all or Braginski will be able to sense his movements because they're on the same damn bed, goddammit why couldn't Braginski just have fucked him that would have been easier -  
  
And then Willem comes back.  
  
"Oh good, now I can leave," says Braginski. He descends down the ladder.  
  
"Yeah, you do that," Willem snaps. He waits until he hears the closing of the door down the hall as Braginski exits. "Fuck, I'm so fuckin' glad he's gone," he says in a breathless rush. He looks back at Eduard with a distinct look in his eyes.  
  
Fighting to keep the moan from his voice and to stop himself from licking his lips is a battle he barely wins. The way Willem _looks_ at him ...  
  
"Not hard to guess what you want," Eduard remarks dryly.  
  
"Hah. Hard. Yeah, hard is fuckin' right." He kicks off his sneakers and starts undoing his jumpsuit.  
  
"What do I get for it?" Eduard asks.  
  
"Wh- you get protection, asshole, now bend the fuck over!"  
  
But somehow, Eduard manages to stand his ground, despite being entirely too ready to ride Willem into oblivion. "You know, he and I weren't just talking right now. It's already been once today. You might hurt me. The least you can do is give me something to sweeten the deal. Besides, I'm out of toothpaste."  
  
Willem rolls his eyes. "Fine. A box of cigs, you can trade 'em again."  
  
Eduard puts his book down and strips as slowly as he can manage. "Just one?" he asks, pretending offence.  
  
"You're already stripping!"  
  
"We're negotiating price," he explains. "It'll still happen. Sooner, if you give me the answer I want to hear."  
  
"Fine, two!"  
  
"Three."  
  
"It was two last time!"  
  
Eduard shrugs. "Price went up. Apparently I'm in demand. Three."  
  
Willem glares for a minute but when Eduard doesn't back down, he does. "Alright," he says. He rummages around in a box beneath his bunk. He tosses three boxes in Eduard's bed and holds his bottle of lube with his other hand, pointing at Eduard with it as he says, "But it had better be fucking good."  
  
Eduard merely smiles. He's not worried about that. Sex with Willem so far has usually been _fucking good_. And he's still so aroused by what happened with Braginski that he's half ready to burst!  
  
"Come on," says Willem, his hand on the ladder to Braginski's bunk.  
  
"On his bed?" asks Eduard.  
  
"His or Berwald's. An' I like Berwald. Goddamn lower bunk never gives you enough head room. Now come on!"  
  
Wearing only his undershirts, Eduard follows Willem up the ladder to Braginski's bed and lets Willem position him where he wants. Willem holds him down at the shoulders, his chest to the bedsheets, his thighs spread and his ass out in the air. He doesn't mind. _Fuck_ , he's never wanted this so bad.  
  
Willem puts two lubed fingers inside him and he moans. That's so good, that's _so good_ , why can't they all be like this? Willem drives them in deep to the knuckles, his thumb balanced in the curve of Eduard's ass. He pushes back against Willem's hand. The motion brushes his hard cock against Braginski's sheets, leaving a wet trail. _Here's hoping he doesn't notice anything until the sheets are laundered again,_ he thinks. He's already riding Willem's fingers and they've hardly gotten started.  
  
"Fuck, could swear you want this more than I do," says Willem. His voice is breathy. His free hand roams on the small of Eduard's back, to the curve of his backside.  
  
Eduard groans out, "It's always good with you. You know what the fuck you're doing."  
  
"You're fuckin' right," Willem snaps. He slicks himself up and enters him in a single swift plunge. It shocks Eduard and makes him moan aloud, as he aches briefly around the intrusion.  
  
"There's no fuckin' way Ivan had you, you goddamn liar," Willem pants out, "you're way too tight and you weren't greased at all!"  
  
"He had me," Eduard gasps, as Willem sets a rhythm in fucking him hard and deep, "just not - _mmh_ \- in the way you thought."  
  
"You little bitch - I oughta -"  
  
"That's the problem with haggling, isn't it? Someone sees how much you want it, they up the price!"  
  
"Crafty bugger. Yeah, keep talking, I'll fuck that smug tone right out of you." And he picks Eduard up to sit him upright, his back against Willem's chest, as Willem tilts his pelvis to fuck him upwards.  
  
The reach is poorer like this but something about the position, about the desperate way Willem screws him, the way his cock moves inside his ass like this, the way it feels he can't spread his legs wide enough, has Eduard panting in seconds for more.  
  
"Yeah, you oughta be paying me, so obvious you fuckin' love this, love being on your knees for me, second you saw me today you wanted a ride," Willem growls in his ear.  
  
Eduard doesn't deny it. "Not my fault I - _fuck_ \- have the better poker face," he jokes.  
  
"I could whore you out, you'd fuckin love it, use you like the property you are!"  
  
"But you won't," he replies.  
  
Willem sighs. "You're so fuckin' lucky I'm just _not_ that kinda guy." He grabs Eduard by the hair, pulls his head back and attacks his neck with his teeth and tongue. Eduard barely keeps it together not to scream, undulating against him to get more of his cock inside.  
  
"Lucky me, that's right," Eduard says sarcastically, cut off by a shaky moan at Willem's hand on his cock. Willem's other hand remains clutching his hair, tight enough to bring his head back, leaned on Willem's shoulder.  
  
Willem sticks his fingers in Eduard's mouth and hisses, "You never know when to shut up, you mouthy little slut."  
  
And shit, but Willem isn't the only one getting off on his humiliation - Eduard can't take any more of this and pushing back against Willem like a whore only satisfies so much. With a moan he licks the fingers he's given and Willem's hand tightens around his cock as he fucks it. He's only partially thinking of Willem, of the hot burn in his ass. The rest of him thinks of being used in his mouth and he curls his tongue over Willem's fingers like he had been doing not twenty minutes ago against Braginski's cock, pretending he's being used at both ends -  
  
He comes so soon he barely has the force of will to put a hand over the tip of his erection. Braginski would kill them if he spilled all over his sheets!  
  
Willem pants in his ear, hot breath on his neck, "Ahh, fucking tight little - ungh!" And he's gone too, coming in Eduard's ass, with his nails dug deep in Eduard's chest. His hips jerk forward hard, pistoning his cock deeper, his thighs taut and hard with the strain to keep upright.  
  
Eduard leans over to catch his breath. Willem pulls out and slaps him hard on the ass as he does. "Next time that's fuckin' free, goddammit."  
  
He chuckles. Cheap bastard.  
  
What a shame his cock is so goddamn amazing.  
  
They get out of Braginski's bunk almost immediately afterwards. Neither of them know when their cellmates are returning, and they're not where they should be. Eduard cleans himself off before redressing and is halfway up his chest on the buttons on his jumpsuit when something makes him look up.  
  
Willem, jumpsuited again, is in his bunk, watching him dress with a faint smile. For once he doesn't look like a smug prick. His smile widens when he catches Eduard's eyes, and then he crosses his legs and pats the space next to him.  
  
Eduard frowns.  
  
"C'mere," Willem says.  
  
"What for?"  
  
"It's a surprise," he replies. When Eduard doesn't move, he elaborates, "That wasn't a request, you're doing this." But the threat is perhaps lost in the easy way he grins, which seems less assholish than normal. Orgasm must make him less of a jerk, and not for the first time since he's gotten here, Eduard wonders about what kind of a person each of his cellmates are. Perhaps this one in particular only became a gigantic tool when he arrived and realised how poorly he took being behind bars.  
  
"But you already... you know," he protests. "You already came."  
  
Willem snorts. "You think once is all I want? I paid you three fuckin' boxes of cigs. You get your ass in here before I have to drag it in."  
  
Seems the douchebag's back.  
  
Eduard crawls in beside him, ducking underneath the bottom of Berwald's bunk. Willem gives him a smirk and pats the spot on the bed next to him.  
  
He does as he's instructed.  
  
"Are you really mad about the cigarettes?" he asks. "Because I do need the toothpaste. And at the rate you're going I'll need more lube, too."  
  
"Nah," Willem drawls. "I can get more if I need. And I guess it's part of your protection, making sure you're taken care of. So long as you take care of me."  
  
This last is delivered with a particular intonation Eduard has come to know as 'casual threat'.  
  
Eduard considers it. He hasn't got a choice, anyway. He has no reason to refuse, so he doesn't, because he can't. That's kind of the point of being the bitch.  
  
"Fine," he says, "what do you want me to do?" He moves to undo the buttons he's already done up, but Willem stops him with a hand over his.  
  
"You're good like that for now," he says. Then he kneels and crawls past Eduard on the bed, pulling the bedsheet up from the corners. This he takes and pins up like a curtain, held between Berwald's mattress and the bedframe, hung down to block out the view. "You know me, I don't care much about an audience, but, ah... this is a little secret."  
  
And heaven help him, but Eduard's intrigued.  
  
Willem settles back in beside him - very close, too close, his heat seeping easily through Eduard's thin jumpsuit, the entire length of their bodies touching. He's so warm, and the intimacy of this - with Willem? Eduard expects something like this from Berwald instead - is shocking enough to be erotic. His breath catches, despite Willem's ever-present attitude.  
  
"Besides," Willem continues, "as I'm sure you've gathered, there's a lot of eyes and ears in this place, and a lotta them are connected to our good ol' Russian friend."  
  
Eduard raises his eyebrows.  
  
"Oh, _come_ on. Tell me you figured at least that much out for yourself," Willem says flatly.  
  
Of course he had, but he's surprised Willem volunteers the information. "How large is the net, anyway?"  
  
"Of informants?" Willem drops his voice lower. "At least the entire wing. Outside, a few people here and there, and more than a few guards."  
  
"Guards!?"  
  
"Ohh, yes. How else do you think he gets away with so much bullshit?"  
  
That explains a few things. "How does he manage it all?"  
  
Willem smiles tight-lipped and thin, and says acidly, "Lemme let you in on a little secret, m'kay? Some people really get off on these kindsa games. Ivan is one of those people. He's got a strange ability to coerce the right kind of behaviour from the right kind of people. But have no illusions: that man is fucking dangerous. Don't give him anything."  
  
Cryptic. "Anything, as in ...?"  
  
"Don't give him fodder to play with," Willem elaborates. He bends over, peels the edge of the mattress facing the wall up, and plucks out something from a gigantic rip, buried inside the mattress. "Case in point, something like this."  
  
He plunks it in Eduard's lap. It's a package, wrapped up tight. "This looks sort of like a magazine," Eduard says.  
  
Willem grins with a predator's confidence. "Open it up."  
  
"It's addressed to you," he notes.  
  
"So it is. I'll let you open it anyway. I wanna see the look on your face."  
  
"It's porn, isn't it," Eduard guesses.  
  
Willem takes his hand and physically places it on the seam.  
  
Stupid flirty Willem. Stupid flirty handsome Willem making his heart leap in his ribcage with every soft touch and every hard grasp alike. It doesn't even matter _how_ he touches him, just that he does!  
  
Eduard does as he's instructed and opens the package.  
  
Well.  
  
It's porn.  
  
_There's_ a surprise.  
  
But from the looks of it...  
  
His eyes go wide and he's sure his eyebrows have lept high past his bangs.  
  
"I only get one of these about every six months," Willem explains. "I have about a week with it, keep it safe and hidden, then I destroy the evidence, so to speak."  
  
Eduard is busy flipping through the pages, each more surprising than the last.  
  
"They're all men," he whispers. And then he looks at Willem, genuinely surprised.  
  
"Yeah," Willem mutters, avoiding his eyes. "Guess they are." Eduard nearly drops the book as his flipping pages happens upon one glossy shot of two men. Willem snorts. "Fuckin' intense, huh?"  
  
"His _entire fist_ is up there!" Eduard hisses, scandalised. He's not sure whether he's horrified or shocked. He flips the page hastily.  
  
"Anyway," continues Willem, "you see why I have to keep it hushed. I couldn't be found with something like this, they'd turn me out."  
  
_Like they did to me_ , Eduard notes. "Aren't you worried about me?"  
  
"Depends. Do I have to buy your silence?" Willem narrows his eyes, judging the precise value of the threat. "I don't think you want me to."  
  
"N-nobody would believe my word anyway," he replies, "or aren't I the bitch?"  
  
He receives a shrug in reply and, "You'd be surprised. How easy it is for anyone to start rumours. How else do people like our Russian friend get their jollies. That's why under no circumstances does this get back to him, or it's _yours_ and you can explain it away."  
  
Eduard swallows hard. So Willem's only sharing this with him to have a scapegoat to take the fall.  
  
(But how interesting, that people can be bought. That people can be conspired against, that slander has a scary power all its own.)  
  
"Don't look so worried. You'd have better luck anyway." When Eduard doesn't reply, he elaborates. "He likes you, fuck if I know why. I dunno what his angle is yet. Looking back on it, it's a damn shame you got mixed up with him. Not like you ever had the option."  
  
" _He_ cornered _me_ in the showers," Eduard protests. "I couldn't do anything!"  
  
"Oh, he did a lot more than that, he's the one who picked you out and requested you. I told you, he has friends with the guards. This is the kind of stuff he gets in return from them. I think you're part of a new game of his but fucked if I know how to win it. Oooh, that one's nice," Willem points to the magazine, fallen open on a picture of a man in between two others, a cock in his mouth and another in his ass.  
  
He blushes.  
  
Willem catches it. "Yeah, I thought you might," he says huskily. He lowers his head to Eduard's shoulders and kisses him roughly, all teeth and tongue. He hasn't shaved in a few days; the stubble is long and prickles Eduard's skin. "God, you don't know the ideas I have for you, from shit like this..."  
  
His eyes flutter shut. "I'm still sore," Eduard reminds him, even as he tilts his head away to expose his neck and give more room for Willem.  
  
"Have I ever done anything you didn't like?" he asks. And then Willem kisses up his neck and whispers in his ears, "I saw you when you were on your knees for me, sucking me off, or don't you think I can spot a tent in a guy's pants after years of practice, hm?"  
  
Willem slips his hand below the magazine and fondles his groin through the jumpsuit. He slides his hand upwards along the centre, and halfway up Eduard's chest, he begins toying with the buttons, slipping them out of the holes one by one.  
  
Then he slips his warm hand beneath the orange jumpsuit and up Eduard's paired undershirts. He pinches Eduard's right nipple hard and then traces circles around it as he tongues the side of his neck. He drops his hand back down past Eduard's waist, between his legs.  
  
And try as he might to help it, Eduard starts to get hard again, grinding himself on the bed, his legs open wide to let Willem have whatever access he likes, sighing softly when Willem wraps a hand around him. He cants his hips up to thrust into the tight grasp...  
  
"Lie down," Willem says suddenly, commandingly. "Take this off. Get on your front."  
  
He does as he's told and divests himself of the jumpsuit, then lays down on his stomach.  
  
"Spread these," instructs Willem, tracing the tip of a sole finger up the back of his thighs, slipping down to stroke up the inside.  
  
He does, breathing hard to stave off the involuntary twitch of his muscles from Willem's sensitive touch.  
  
There's the sound of the bottle being opened and a wet splurt. Almost the end of the bottle for Willem. It's times like this that Eduard is thankful he somehow found the temerity to ask Lovino when he did.  
  
Then there is the sensation of Willem's hand - warm and dry - cupping his rear, thoughtful and almost tender - paired with his finger, wet and slick, tracing around his perineum, along his balls - Eduard holds his breath even as his nerves simmer, he fights to keep calm instead of twisting and thrashing, it tickles so _badly!_ But Willem has him pinned, held down firmly, and his hand grips his ass so hard he can feel nails. Willem clearly doesn't want him to move.  
  
He backs up onto Willem's hand, hoping he'll will take the hint and stop tickling him already.  
  
After what seems like an eternity, Willem loops back around and his fingers dance up to his hole.  
  
Eduard's breath sticks in his throat.  
  
Willem traces it with a wet digit, sliding it against the muscle, pushing and coaxing his way around but not inside.  
  
This torture is almost worse, because the more Willem teases him the more desperately he wants it, but he's too proud to admit it, he _won't cave_ , not after he just came!  
  
As if by accident, Willem strokes across, slipping the tip of his finger inside him, nudging past the muscle. Eduard physically can't hold back, his breath turns into a gaspy moan.  
  
Willem laughs low, under his breath, the victorious smug kind of laughter that comes with the territory of permanently winning. Eduard blushes to his shoulders. He thinks Willem has never annoyed him more than he does now, that smirking bastard, he can so clearly see in his mind the fine line of Willem's lips, arched coolly up one side.  
  
"Just get on with it," Eduard mutters, burying his warm, red face in the mattress.  
  
"Don't tell me what to do," warns Willem, " _brat_ ," and as he says this last, he slaps Eduard's ass with a resounding, echoing smack.  
  
"Ow!" he yelps.  
  
Willem drives his finger in completely.  
  
He groans aloud before he gets a hold of his vocal chords again. "Fuck!" he says, "I said I was sore!"  
  
"Mm, I heard you," Willem says in a sing-song voice.  
  
"Fuck," he says again. Clearly Willem is going to ignore everything he says.  
  
And then Willem strokes over his prostate. Everything goes white, hard white. "Aargh!" he whines. It hurts, it's too intense, he only just came, he's still so sensitive -  
  
"Shhh, shh," Willem murmurs. His right hand, he brushes back and forth over Eduard's ass, comfortingly. His left, the finger, he twists and darts around inside Eduard, playing with him, teasing him, going close to, but not touching, the most sensitive spots. He slips out and in again, rubbing him from the inside out, and repeats it, faster and faster.  
  
And then once more, Willem slides in deep and touches his prostate. It still hurts, but much less so. Eduard whimpers.  
  
Willem removes the finger...  
  
...and adds a second.  
  
It's _delicious_ , thinks Eduard, as he shudders and his shoulders shake with the strain of keeping himself propped up on his elbows. He knows he shouldn't like this so much, but he does, he likes having something inside of him like this, sinking into him, and Willem is experienced, he knows how to make the sensation of _entrance_ so good, so satisfying.  
  
"Ah, please," he says.  
  
"Please what?" asks Willem.  
  
He doesn't know. Please more? Please less? He's still so sensitive but an increasing part of him - with which his erection agrees - tells him to keep going, to give himself over, let Willem have him entirely, because Willem'll make him come so hard he sees stars and the longer they play these games, the more he wants to come again.  
  
"Please," he says simply, canting his hips and shoving himself backwards onto Willem's fingers, sliding his cock across the fabric of the mattress.  
  
Willem bends over him, and it's now that Eduard can feel he's stripped - his warm naked skin glides over Eduard's back - and he's hard - his cock trails a wet line of precum up the back of Eduard's thighs. "Please what," Willem asks again, before he puts his lips to the place where Eduard's neck meets his shoulders and bites.  
  
"Aah!" Once more he can't speak. At this rate they'll never know what he wants, but Willem's mouth on his neck is driving him too wild to figure it out.  
  
"Please _what_ ," Willem repeats against Eduard's skin, mouthing the nape of his neck and shoving his fingers in deep, drawing them out slowly, stretching them apart at the tips when he gets to his entrance.  
  
Eduard can't handle this. "Just - just," he stammers, and then forces himself to say it, "just fuck me!" Once it's said, it breaks a seal, and he murmurs, "please, _hard_ , I can't - fuck, please!"  
  
"Y'know, as much as I like you saying that," Willem says, smiling against his shoulders, "that's not what I had in mind."  
  
He nudges a third finger inside him, opening him up wide, and moves the three as one in slow, small circles, drilling deeper as he goes. When he gets deep enough he touches more gently, but it rockets through Eduard like lightning and he whines. "Please, Willem!" he moans.  
  
But his mind, hazy with lust, only puts it together when Willem has added the tip of a fourth finger. The magazine - _fucking intense, huh?_ Willem said, pressed up against him and warm -  
  
"No," Eduard states firmly. "Not - _no_."  
  
"I wasn't asking," Willem retorts calmly.  
  
"You'll seriously injure me!"  
  
"You'll be _fine_ ," Willem replies.  
  
"Your hands are _giant!_ "  
  
"Why, thank you."  
  
"That _wasn't a compliment!_ "  
  
"Sounded like one to me," Willem chirps. Then he murmurs low, "I know what I'm doing. Trust me."  
  
Does he have a choice?  
  
Of course not!  
He swears, if he has to spend the next month in the prison hospital because he's _incontinent_ , he'll _kill_ Willem - well, on the upside, he can't be in service to his cellmates if he's in the hospital.  
  
Eduard sighs, and Willem - four fingers in, his thumb nestled in his crack as support, uses tiny, gentle circular motions to ease his fingers in to the knuckles.  
  
He can't believe he's doing this. He can't believe he's going to do this. This is insanity. He feels sore and stretched and so wide already, and Willem wants to put the rest of his hand up there, this is _insane_.  
  
"Breathe," Willem gasps, himself no good example, "c'mon, it's okay."  
  
"Then, y-you've done this before?" Eduard asks.  
  
Willem licks the shell of his earlobe to distract him before he drives his hand in deeper and _presses_.  
  
For a second he can't breathe, his body freezes, his hands clutch the mattress and his toes curl. It can't last more than a second but it rips through him, and as Willem removes his hand slowly, bit by bit, so that Eduard can feel every part of him sliding out, his exhale becomes a loud moan.  
  
"Everyone's gonna hear you if you keep that up," taunts Willem, an everpresent warmth at his back, the warm weight of his hard cock on his thighs.  
  
Eduard barely hears him.  
  
"Turn over," Willem says. When Eduard doesn't move he slaps his ass, in a friendly but insistent way. "C'mon, turn over. On your back."  
  
"What're you gonna do," Eduard asks, so aroused he's slurring his speech, his tongue fuzzy and heavy in his mouth.  
  
Willem doesn't answer. He grips Eduard by the shoulder and eases him onto his back, and then presses him back into the mattress, only letting Eduard prop himself up by his elbows.  
  
There's a look in Willem's eyes that must be the same sort of look a wolf gives small animals. It's the look of a victorious, hungry predator who's caught what they want after a week too long of starvation. His pupils are so wide Eduard hardly sees the hazel ring around them.  
  
It's a good look.  
  
Eduard can hardly believe he's _desired_ so badly. He lets out an inarticulate moan.  
  
Then Willem grabs the lube, and squirts out the last onto his fingertips. He brings the fingers together with the thumb in a point, and Eduard knows where this is heading. "Oh fuck," he groans.  
  
He looks away. He _can't watch_ \- !  
  
It starts slow. It starts with the point, moving in, slowly, penetrating him, moving deeper, bit by bit. Willem is slick but there's so much of him already and he isn't even at the first set of knuckles yet.  
  
"I can't," he whispers, "there's no way -"  
  
"Shhh," says Willem. His voice is thick and syrupy, full of lust. "You can do it."  
  
He presses in harder, stronger. It stretches Eduard further and he spreads his legs to try and accomodate Willem's hand, but it's not enough, he can't be wide enough to take it. "I can't!" he protests.  
  
"You can," he groans, "you _will_."  
  
"I can't! - _aah_ -" and as Willem for the tenth time ignores him and presses in deeper, fucking him with his _whole goddamn hand_ , he leans his head back. He's never felt such pain before, he's never felt so open, so exposed and raw. And yet, the stimulation of letting someone else so deep inside him is almost too much. He hangs there in the balance between incredible pleasure and extreme anguish. He is quickly reduced to short gasps, then tiny, brief, shallow moans.  
  
There is a terrifying moment where he truly believes that Willem will split him apart. He will actually rip, and he'll bleed out all over Willem's bed, and Willem will either spend too much time complaining about how much it'll cost to bribe people to clean it, or get pissed off that he can't fuck his tight hole anymore now that he's broken it beyond belief, either way Eduard won't get to the hospital in time and he fears that he'll die in prison, in his cellmate's bed with a fist up his ass.  
  
This moment takes too long to pass.  
  
But when it does, and when he realises Willem is entirely inside him, has folded his fingers to rest on his palm and has formed a tight fist _inside him_...  
  
... he exhales completely and deeply for the first time in minutes, so starved for air that he gasps it in, light-headed and dizzy. His eyes flutter shut and he lets himself fall back on the mattress. He covers his face with his hands; his cheeks are burning.  
  
He drops the fear. He does the unthinkable, and trusts Willem with this.  
  
"Holy fuck," says Willem. His right hand is moving, up and down his shaft, almost reflexively as though he's unaware of himself masturbating. "Holy _fuck_ you don't know how hot you are."  
  
Eduard has a few ideas. The way Willem is looking at him - like this is the most erotic thing he's done in his _life_ (that filthy liar, there's no way he's done this before) - and the desperate way he jacks himself off. Eduard can tell he wants to thrust in, move his fist up and punch it in and out, that he imagines fucking Eduard with his entire arm, but he doesn't. Willem stays immobile, his muscles superbly controlled, and as frantic as his masturbation gets he doesn't allow himself to do any more within Eduard than nudge his prostate now and again with his knuckle.  
  
The sensation as it drags across his supersensitive nerves! Eduard grips the sheets in an effort not to scream. This is not like getting fucked at all, getting fucked is a walk in the park compared to this, this is a head-on collision with ecstasy and he hardly knows what to do! He yelps, unable to be fully silent.  
  
The throbbing intensity he feels, feeling fuller than he ever has, it's unlike anything he's _ever felt_. He feels so vulnerable. He's so turned on. Nothing matters but the feeling of Willem inside him, tied inexorably to the rush of endorphins that flood his body. Eduard imagines that if he ever had done drugs, this would be like what being high is. He's floating, he's suspended, he's almost not cognisant of the feel of his limbs on the mattress because he can barely sense anything outside of Willem inside him, throbbing and large -  
  
It's the finest line drawn between pleasure and pain and he's never known before how well they could intermingle, how much pleasure he could feel without coming because it's accompanied by a brutal onslaught of his protesting nerves that he can't stop! He wants to just rest here, stay like this, until he understands completely what this feeling does to him because it's too overwhelming to digest simply.  
  
"Touch yourself," Willem moans. "Do it, fuck yourself on me, grab your fucking cock. Oh, _Christ_."  
  
He does as he's asked. He's so gone he does whatever Willem asks him to without thinking.  
  
Orgasm seems almost like an afterthought, because when he comes - and he does, yes - he tightens around Willem's wrist ( _his wrist!_ ). And the important thing isn't how it feels like his entire lower half is on fire and explodes, but rather how profound and terrifyingly earth-shattering it is to have someone within him like this. He rides on the addictive and subsuming sensations and gives in ...  
  
And he probably blacks out, because when he comes to he realises that he's coming to and that he has no idea where he's been for the past couple of seconds. He opens his eyes and the blackness is still present at the corners of sight. Either his eyes are watering or his vision swims, but he can't even tell which. What he does know is he feels totally relaxed and there's come on his belly.  
  
Willem shifts his knuckles again against his prostate, after he's already come, and he jumps. His body jerks helplessly on the bed, he's so sensitive and doesn't process the motion until after the reflex. But Willem is inside and anchored by the wrist, and he can't move away from the feeling. He groans.  
  
It takes Willem a few minutes before his breath becomes laboured and he finally comes, spilling it on Eduard's stomach.  
  
"Fuck," Willem says, " _fuck_." For once he has nothing smart to say, and the traces of smug smirk have been thoroughly wiped off his face, replaced by amazement and awe.  
  
He rests immobile and lets Willem stay there a moment, panting, bent over him, as the come cools on his skin. Willem calms himself down and removes his hand from Eduard in one single, slick motion. He just slides out with little effort, naturally, like from an ice floe into the water.  
  
Eduard takes a moment to relax. He wants to drift off and fall asleep, so satiated that he's forgotten he's not in his own bed, and he's in the middle of a quiet doze when Willem returns to the bed, having cleaned himself up as best he can.  
  
"'Kay," says Willem, "this isn't a fucking hotel. Shove off."  
  
So, no cuddling. He's disappointed, but not surprised (it's Willem, after all). First he sits up - he feels alright, he doesn't feel broken or like he's bleeding - and gingerly steps off the bed. He makes his way to the toilet in their cell on shaky legs.  
  
Nothing, no blood.  
  
He sighs in relief, and then makes a drowsy beeline to his bed to collapse upon it. He doesn't bother doing his jumpsuit back up, just shrugs into it, doing only the barest minimum to clothe himself against the cold air.  
  
It's then that he realises Willem and he are not alone - Berwald returned at some point, and is on his bed, sitting with his back to the wall, his knees up and a book propped upon them.  
  
"Berwald! I didn't hear you come in," Eduard says. Secretly, he's delighted. Maybe Berwald will hold him, if any of them would it'd be him -  
  
"Y'were busy," Berwald says coldly.  
  
His heart sinks. "Sorry," he replies.  
  
"No, yer not," adds Berwald, "could hear y'both from down th' hall." And is that just Eduard's opinion or is that a delicate hurt in his voice?  
  
"You two can maybe fuckin' shut up so that a guy can get a nap in here? Christ, they got me working tomorrow," snaps Willem from his bunk. He hasn't taken down the sheet that acts a curtain.  
  
"Yer one t' fuckin' talk," Berwald replies. (Eduard agrees; if Willem's got work that means he has too, and he's _exhausted_.)  
  
"Yeah, skip the sermon. Not my fault bitch yowls like an alleycat." He yawns. "If you want him, you can have him. Enjoy the sloppy seconds. Pretty fuckin' sloppy. You might want to have his mouth 'cause his asshole's fucked out for the next few days."  
  
Berwald grunts a reply and gives Eduard an arch look.  
  
Eduard looks apologetic about it and meets his eyes in furtive glances alone.  
  
Berwald looks at him, then down at his book, then back at him. Then he rolls his eyes and sighs, and gestures to the ladder to his bunk in invitation.  
  
Thank _god._ He keeps the jumpsuit closed at the waist as he climbs the ladder. It takes more effort than he's willing to admit to make his legs work right. He doesn't care how long it takes Berwald to come, Berwald can just fuck his face, it doesn't matter, he just wants to be close to someone right now.  
  
But when he puts his hand on Berwald's crotch suggestively, Berwald pulls it off and returns to his book. "S'okay," he murmurs. And then he wordlessly pulls Eduard to him by the shoulder until they're sitting side by side, Berwald's arm looped around him.  
  
He reads over Berwald's shoulder for a few moments until Rembrandt's art starts to swim and blur, and his eyes close of their own volition.  
  
Berwald relaxes his legs and crosses them. Then he slides Eduard down to his lap, with an arm on his shoulder, letting him rest on his thigh. There, Eduard sleeps, as Berwald reads on.


	8. Chapter 8

When Eduard wakes up, it's to a disgusting scent of a dirty sock. Then something large and equally fetid hits him. It takes him a minute to realise it's a shoe.  
  
"Th' hell," Berwald sighs.  
  
"Get the fuck up," says Willem, too loudly for how exhausted Eduard is.  
  
Eduard tries to burrow deeper into Berwald's arms but Willem chuckles, low and nastily, and snaps, "The fuck you _don't_. Wake up, dumbass, ya got ten hours of work and if you don't come with me they'll give me shit for it. And bring my shoe when you come down."  
  
It must be six am.  
  
Well, there's nothing to be done about it. Eduard mumbles an apology and sits up - and only then does he really fully understand the implications of where he is.  
  
He's in someone else's bed, he's in his cellmate's bed, and it's so comfortable he could melt, yes, but this is a _man_ that he has now slept with in both senses of the word.  
  
Eduard has a silent moment of panic, interrupted only the inscrutable gaze Berwald throws him.  
  
Classic Berwald. The frown on his face as Eduard slowly extricates himself from Berwald's embrace - their _legs_ are entwined together, good god - it could mean anything. It could mean _quit hogging the covers, but where are you going with my heat source_. It could mean _about fucking time you left my bed, I am way too nice to the bitch_. With a sinking, pounding heart he realises it could mean _do you really have to leave? I enjoyed the feeling of your skin on mine_ -  
  
Who knows.  
  
Eduard climbs down the ladder to Berwald's bed, puts on his shoes, buttons up his jumpsuit (he's still wearing nothing underneath, but they're already late and he doesn't want to face any more of Willem's wrath). Glumly, he follows his cellmate out of their cell to where a guard is waiting to escort all of the work-program prisoners.  
  
Everybody is lined up already. A few men glare at Eduard for having kept them. Willem snarls and feints a lunge towards them. They cringe and cower.  
  
They don't dare look in Eduard's direction for the rest of the day.  
  
Work is boring as fuck, as it always is - as every single day is in this place - but at least Willem leaves him alone for it, choosing instead to do his work off by Sadik and that Beilschmidt guy. This leaves Eduard all by himself for ten hours of soldering. He finds himself a pattern in his assembly line setup and prepares to repeat it over a thousand times before the day is done.  
  
Thankfully, he doesn't feel too loose in his seat for a day's labour. And it isn't even really _labour_ since he spends it sitting on his ass, assembling tiny components and fusing them to a circuit board over and over and over again.  
  
They receive a ten minute break for lunch and then work ends at four pm.  
  
Willem leaves him alone for it all.  
  
_Everybody_ leaves him alone for it all.  
  
It's nice, and quiet, if a bit lonely. But Eduard didn't come here to make friends, and what he wanted when this whole thing began was to be left alone. That's what he's got.  
  
Inevitably, his mind wanders.  
  
Why doesn't Berwald qualify for the work program? Braginski - well, he's an obvious case! Braginski seems the kind of crazy who would smuggle out wires and components and build himself a pipe bomb for shits and giggles. But Berwald has good behaviour, and if the rumours can be believed, and unless he did something really bad, he's been here long enough to get in. It would give him a little money but more importantly something to do. Berwald seems intelligent enough and appears to bore easily, spending all his free time reading. He doesn't seem to have any friends aside from maybe, _possibly_ Willem. And this for-profit prison is so cheap Eduard's surprised they don't insist on as much work program participation as they can.  
  
The only other explanation is that Berwald's crime was particularly severe.  
  
Berwald doesn't seem like a mass murderer, a serial killer, a psychopath, a madman.  
  
But then again, you know, it's always the quiet ones.  
  
But Berwald let him sleep on his lap!  
  
But Eduard really doesn't know anything about his cell mates.  
  
But the way he kisses him and holds him -! There's _lust_ in that touch, there's a desirous warmth in it. Madmen _don't do that!_ Just look at Braginski - impartial, cool, sociopathic Braginski who touches Eduard only when he must, to prove a point. No, it's too improbable. It's true, there's all kinds in jail -  
  
Eduard snaps out of his daze, coming upon the conclusion suddenly.  
  
Yes, there's all kinds.  
  
And you know who else goes to jail besides criminals? People who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. People who hired bad lawyers. People who didn't even do what it is they're in for.  
  
Judging from what little he does know of his cellmate, it is much, much more probable than anything he's imagined in the past hour he's spent thinking about Berwald.  
  
He doesn't know why Berwald doesn't advertise it more. Solidarity with dangerous folk for his own protection? No, Berwald's a big scary giant, he doesn't need protection besides his own obvious, evident strength. Berwald has no need to bluff his way to security.  
  
Maybe he believes it doesn't hurt to have a rumour mill working _for_ him. That must be nice, thinks Eduard sourly.  
  
Well. That's one more thing Eduard can use against Berwald. When he needs it.  
  
Then he thinks a little deeper. Perhaps what it is they booked Berwald for ... has something to do with how much he loves men. Yes, Eduard has a sneaking suspicion they're related. A pedophile? Boys, girls? No, if that were so, he wouldn't be able to get it up so easily for him - Eduard could lift a thousand weights and never be the epitome of manliness, but is nevertheless both masculine and of age and _grows stubble_ on the days they don't get access to a razor. And Berwald loves rubbing their faces together when they kiss.  
  
Why else would Berwald hide?

* * *

  
A week later, he intends to see Lovino. After all, he has three packages of cigarettes to spend and he's been watching Lovino when he can. Three cigarettes a few days ago. One yesterday. Half of one today. He's running out, making them last. Cigarettes are high price for him right now.  
  
Part of him still feels a little nervous venturing out on his own.  
  
But nobody bothers him. People hardly look at him.  
  
Unfortunately, this means it takes some time to track down Lovino. Eduard manages to find Antonio just outside the doors to the rec yard, leaning on a staircase railing. He's by himself, smoking.  
  
Eduard swallows his fear and marches up to him. "If I wanted to find Lovino, where might I do that?" he asks.  
  
Secretly, he's impressed with himself. His voice stays low, doesn't crack or waver at all.  
  
Antonio flicks ash off the end of his cigarette without blinking. Then he smiles. " _I_ can get Lovino for you," he says. He takes a long drag on the cigarette and exhales slowly into Eduard's face.  
  
Though the smoke makes his eyes water and he blinks furiously, Eduard doesn't back down. Slowly, he's getting better at this.  
  
Antonio keeps smiling. "Say," he says, mock-friendly and sugar-sweet, "you're the one they talk about, aren't you?" He unfolds his arms, leans into Eduard's personal space, and makes a big show of looking him up and down. "I've heard stories about you. How many cocks was it they said you took at once?"  
  
He keeps smiling at Eduard.  
  
It downright creeps him out, but Eduard doesn't move. "Do you or don't you know where Lovino is," he asks flatly.  
  
"Oh, what's the matter?" coos Antonio. "Your big bodyguards don't let you talk 'til they pull your chain?" Antonio leans in closer still - he doesn't _touch_ , he knows he's not allowed to touch - and whispers into Eduard's ear, "I won't tell them what you said, _nene_. Be our little secret, hmm? You tell me a little something, I find you Lovino."  
  
The door bangs open. It's Lovino, on what appears to be a murderous rampage. It's worthwhile noting that Eduard didn't flinch once in front of that act with Antonio but Lovino looking like this has him somewhat concerned for his life. "The fucking Christ you will piece of dickshit _che cazzo fai?_ And _you_ , you bastard idiot -" this part is directed to Eduard - "why the fuck you come and find me and attract attention?!"  
  
"I'm sorry," snaps Eduard, "you don't exactly have marketplace hours posted!"  
  
Lovino rolls his eyes. "Whatever, let's get to it."  
  
"And what about him?" Eduard nods to Antonio, who grins.  
  
"He's leaving," grunts Lovino. " _Isn't_ he."  
  
Antonio stops grinning and throws the finished cigarette on the ground. As he twists his foot to stamp out the flame he whines, "You never let me have any fun anymore, Lovino!"  
  
They both wait until the doors shut behind Antonio.  
  
It's clear Lovino's not exactly keen on meeting him. Well, good. That means his idea is working - just the thought of his cellmates mean people leave him alone unless he doesn't want to be left alone. That gives him the power. As nice as Lovino can be when he's got something to trade, Eduard doesn't hesitate to assume that the other would dick him over as easily as help him.  
  
After all, nobody does anything for nothing in this place.  
  
"Well, you've come all this way. What do you want?" asks Lovino.  
  
"Books," says Eduard. "You seem a smart man. I can't imagine you haven't got something good to read. And I'm dying of boredom. There's nothing to do in this place and I go mad when I haven't anything to do. And I don't like what happens when I go mad." He's reminded of Willem's stir crazy episodes during lockdown. They aren't fun for Eduard, that's certain, but a blowjob is nothing he doesn't do anyway. Willem is the one who becomes frenetic, who shakes, who is rendered mute to cover himself up the moment his stutter appears. Eduard knows he's no better, and hasn't the physical strength to afford panicking his wits away. "So what's the densest thing you've got for a pack of smokes?"  
  
Lovino laughs derisively. "The bitch is _bored_ , I can't fuckin' believe it." He throws his glance to the heavens as though they have answers for him but when none appear he sobers and says, "The best I got is Eco. You ever read him?" Eduard shakes his head. "Well he's dense as fuck, and I don't have an English translation."  
  
"Good," says Eduard. "That makes it more interesting."  
  
"What the fuck are you, some kinda glutton for punishment? You even speak another language?"  
  
"I do," he replies.  
  
Lovino rolls his eyes but says, "Follow me," and leads him back to his cell. There, he pulls out a three book set. "This is a loan, mind you," he says angrily, "and if I catch wind these get damaged I _will kill you_ , bodyguards or not."  
  
"I'll treat them like my own," Eduard promises.  
  
Lovino grunts and forks over the books. Eduard hands him a single pack. "There anything else?" barks Lovino.  
  
Quickly, Eduard shoulder-checks. A few people around, not near. No close guards. He lowers his voice. If one pack of smokes bought him the use of Lovino's nicest books ... perhaps two packs might buy him something really good.  
  
"What's the going rate on a knife?" he asks.  
  
Lovino scoffs. "Why, you thinkin' of hurting somebody?"  
  
Eduard shakes his head. "Not thinking anything just yet."  
  
"I think you think too much," Lovino says.  
  
"And I think you think not enough. What did it take you for that blade you keep under your belt?"  
  
For a moment, Lovino pretends he hasn't heard. The guard nearest them - about thirty paces away - wanders off into another hall. "I saw a guy get killed with it," reveals Lovino. "I took the blade. I was young - stupid - didn't think about fingerprints - but it turns out they never went after me. That was a guy the guards wanted killed. Nobody likes anybody who touches little boys. Not the guards, and not us. Some a' these guys have sons, y'know?"  
  
But touching big boys is okay, thinks Eduard mirthlessly. Ah, that's right, he _consented_ to this, it's different.  
  
And he supposes, he's no innocent either. He did do something to land himself in this den of wolves.  
  
Well, no matter.  
  
"What you want a knife for anyway," asks Lovino. "Haven't you got enough with your three big burly brutes? Anybody in here looks at you funny, they take him out."  
  
Eduard shakes his head and sighs. "I can't be putting out like this forever," he says. "I don't even _like_ men -"  
  
"Could've fooled me," Lovino snaps darkly.  
  
"- and you can't imagine the things they've made me do! I can't do this for the rest of my sentence!"  
  
"And you think a knife's gonna do the trick? Fuck, kid, I thought you were _smart!_ "  
  
"What else can I possibly do?"  
  
"Nothing!" hisses Lovino. Eduard winces. "There's nothing you can do! You can keep everything as it is right fuckin' now and that's the best you're ever gonna get, ya got that? 'Cause you know what, your position here is not too bad."  
  
Eduard laughs. "You think - you think the best case scenario is keeping the status quo? Are you mad?! My position, unless it's escaped your ears, is underneath men as a _hole_ they can _fuck_. I barter that away for my own protection. My luck is that they're _clean_. How is that 'not too bad'? You act like a knife's expensive but I can't even put a price on what I'd do -"  
  
"You'd have to transfer," Lovino interrupts.  
  
"I'd have to ... what?"  
  
"It's the only way anybody will respect you," he continues. "You turn out once, you put your hand on someone's cock once, you get taken advantage of once, you're a bitch for life. You especially. Get yourself five knives, it won't matter. You need people, you need allies more than you need weapons. And nobody's friends with the turnout bitch, unless they fuckin' ride too! No, that's a mark that ain't gonna fade with time, people won't just forget. Nobody will forget that. Everybody knows. If you want not to be sleeping your way for protection you need a transfer so's you can start new. And when you do, you wanna keep in mind it doesn't matter how many muscles you have or don't have. Next time, you stand the fuck up for yourself 'cause even if you get hurt, it's better than this." Lovino purses his lips and shakes his head. "No, that's the only way."  
  
Eduard feels his heart sink. "Then ... the best I can do here ..."  
  
"- Is what you've got now," finishes Lovino. "'Cause they'll protect you. You better keep 'em doing that. I'll say this much, at least you picked well. Well, the one in glasses. Think he's the most honest man there is in this place."  
  
Then Lovino shoulder-checks, and says the following in a hush that Eduard has to strain to hear. "If you can get him - y'know, really get him, like - make him love you? You're gold."  
  
Eduard is certain his horrified expression is palpable from a distance.  
  
"Don't look at me like that!" Lovino whispers. "That's how it works with him. You know it too, don't you? You can tell. An honest man can't be bribed the same way any other dirtfucker can!"  
  
He grimaces. He'd been planning on seducing Berwald, but that was so that he could use it against him to someday be free, not dig himself in deeper. "And the others?"  
  
"Ehh, van Dijk'll protect you too - not because he's honest, but what he lacks in morals he makes up for with a total addiction to sex."  
  
"So what do I do?" asks Eduard.  
  
"What do you think? You become another one of his drugs. You become the most _important_ of his drugs. You got a few ideas on that, dontcha?" He most certainly does. "Keep providing him the goods, he'll do a lotta work for you."  
  
Eduard nods. "And..." he's almost scared to ask. "And what of Braginski?"  
  
Lovino thinks. "Be careful," he says at last. "You might need the first two to help you against the third. And if they're all tied up, I dunno who's protect you against the rest. You need 'em all on your side."  
  
This raises Eduard's eyebrows.  
  
"You oughta pay attention to that," Lovino warns. "He's something else alright. Y'know sometimes the people in here... should be in here."  
  
Eduard wonders about a statement like that. "Do you know... what he was in here for? What's he capable of?"  
  
"I don't know nothin' about it," Lovino lies.  
  
"Oh yes you do," Eduard says darkly.  
  
"No, I know nothing. People ask you, you don't know where you got the information. You got it? That one likes to play games, and everybody in here's a little piece of his game."  
  
He rolls his eyes. "Tell me something I don't know."  
  
"He stalked three men to get in this place. Three men he stalked, and he waited. Lemme tell you, he's a patient fucker. One of 'em he waited over two years for. I dunno what it was they did to deserve it but he tracked them all like animals, toying with them, and then he lured them in. He caged them, one by one. And when he had 'em caged, he cut out their throats so they couldn't scream, and then he had his way with them until he got bored. And when he finally got bored, he took a cast iron frying pan and he walloped their brains into meat."  
  
Eduard swallows hard.  
  
"So if I have anything to say about that one," Lovino warns, "it's that you best keep things interesting. Don't let him get bored."  
  
About halfway through Lovino's story, Eduard had decided upon giving Lovino a second pack of cigarettes. This story seems to be something of a secret, although people appear to know about it in its rumour form alone. But who would've told Eduard? Nobody wants to help the bitch. God only knows why Lovino is doing so now. Maybe he's taken pity on him.  
  
At any rate, Eduard hands over the smokes. "What's this for?" asks Lovino.  
  
"Your information," replies Eduard. "This was useful." Much more than he knows. "You should get something for it."  
  
Lovino tries to shrug it off. "I didn't do anything - told you, I don't know shit - I don't want it - I don't want to owe favours, not to you."  
  
He thinks quickly. "Then consider it an exchange," he says. "If you know anything about his motives, if anything changes and you hear about it - I need to know."  
  
"He makes you nervous," Lovino realises.  
  
With a backstory like that? Of course he does! "Find a man in here that Braginski doesn't make nervous," Eduard snaps. "And if he's big enough, I'll do him. Like the filthy slut I am."  
  
Lovino colours and lowers his eyes. "I'm not the one who put you in that position. Don't get mad at me."  
  
That's true enough. He sighs. "No, you're not. So feed me anything you can about the man who did."  
  
No, Braginski's the worst of the bunch. If only it were possible to get him on Eduard's side forever, but he's so difficult to read.  
  
...There has to be something he wants.  
  
And Eduard's a bright boy with a lot of time on his hands. He'll find it.

* * *

  
The guard bangs on their cell bars later that evening at five. "You, skinny boy," he says. "Y'got a visitor."

Eduard becomes immediately nauseated. Not Katya, not Katya. Please not Katya. He's so distracted by the terror that Katya would have done something so stupid as to come visit him that he doesn't see the incredibly interested expressions on his cellmates' faces.

It's true, he hasn't been fucked in a week, so he doesn't have the recent shame of an encounter to humiliate him in front of his wife - the sick feeling of lube and come in his ass, the awful itch of an unwanted touch, he could scrub himself raw for decades and not be clean - but the longer he stays here the more he doesn't want to see her. If other inmates see who his wife is, her beautiful face, her voluptuous body, will they catcall her and shame her? Will they treat him worse than they already do? It seems too likely.

As for his own personal feelings, well... he and Katya hadn't separated on good terms, that's for certain.

But when the guard leads him into the visiting room - two rows of desks, separated by thick plastic, connected by phones - he breathes a sigh of relief. Not Katya. Just Timo.

Timo, on the other side of the glass, spots him and waves exuberantly with a big smile.

Eduard feels light-hearted for the first time in a long while. He sits down at the desk on his side and picks up the phone. Timo does the same. "Hey," he says.

"Hi!" he hears Timo's voice. "Eduard, I'm so sorry I didn't come sooner. I've been busy with an awful lot of stuff, you know, the company has me working such late hours. I don't get out before eight most nights. And weekends, too! And then I've been - ah, well, you know, Katya asked me to check up on her once in awhile, so that's Sundays. I've hardly had any time to myself, let alone to spare to see you, and visiting hours are rather strange, just a few openings a week! It's very inconvenient for me! But I came as soon as I can. How are you? You look alright, I think? They're not treating you too badly? You're settling in?"

Eduard's face falls.

Does he tell him the truth?

"Timo -" he sighs - "to be frank, this has been awful. You don't know the things I've had to do to stop people from doing even worse. I sell myself out to my cellmates so they will help me from the rest of the wolves in here. And it's - it's working, people don't bother me now, because my cellmates are much bigger than they are, but, but Timo, the things I've done for them ..." he shakes his head - "and there's no privacy, everybody knows what I've been doing for them. Those that didn't see first hand have heard the rumours. Everybody seems to want a piece of me, the only thing stopping them is my cellmates!

"And I don't understand what it is they're doing to me - because i-it's their fault, y-you know I never liked, only women - do you think it's right that sometimes, it's not quite so bad, if you understand perhaps what I'm saying, but other times, it's awful, and I've been told I have to keep up with this forever now, for the rest of my sentence, or I can transfer, that's the best options I've got! And one of them likes it when I like it, so what more can I do but attempt to like it? th-then it's not my fault if I come, isn't it so?

"But Timo, do you know how they look at me? Do you know how I feel, I feel like a _whore_ , Timo, I _am_ a whore, all their eyes on me, these people have seen me bent over and split wide - and - remember, I didn't consent to any of this, do you know how many times I've been used, my cellmate just the other week had me in his bed with his entire hand up my ass because he wanted to, because he could, and the other one, he's a serial killer, he's violent, but with me he's sometimes so very gentle, sometimes he terrifies me but other times, I don't know what to think anymore -"

"Eduard? Eduard?" Timo is alternately knocking on the glass and waving his fingers, to catch Eduard's attention and shift him out of the staring gaze. "Eduard, are you even in there? You've been silent three minutes now. Answer me!"

He can't tell him the truth. He can't tell him anything.

"I'm fine," he says dully instead. "You needn't worry about me. I'm fine."

Timo's face melts into an expression of relief. "Thank god!" he exclaims. "You were very quiet there for a moment. But I'm glad to hear you're alright."

"Yes," Eduard replies. "Yes, I'm alright. Tell me, what have you been up to?"

And Timo - chatty as ever - launches into a long explanation detailing every little thing he's done for the past two months, encompassing not only Eduard's time in prison but also the time leading up to his trial. Understandably, Eduard himself was preoccupied with other things at the time. Timo is happy to fill him in.

If it seems a bit one-sided, it is. But then again, Timo's days are filled with a lot more interesting events than Eduard's. What news has Eduard got for Timo?

That he sleeps with men for his own protection? That he's starting to enjoy it? That he'd _better_ enjoy it, or at least get used to it, because his only alternative is doing something bad enough to warrant a transfer?

No.

So Eduard remains silent as Timo blathers on about this and that, insignificant minutia of his days, every last documented detail. When Timo finally asks, Eduard tells him about the work program - although not about the time Willem backed him into a corner and fucked him - and explains about lockdowns - although not about the time Braginski fucked him into the bars - as well as time in the rec yard and scheduled shower privileges - although not about the time Berwald protected him in advance to extract payment later.

When Timo asks how his cellmates are, Eduard tells him that they're fine, although his cheeks are warm and he suspects he's blushing. Timo either doesn't pick up on it, or elects not to comment.

Finally, the conversation appears to slow, and Eduard musters the courage to ask, "And what of Katya, is she well?"

"She's good," says Timo stiffly. "She, ah. She doesn't plan on coming to see you."

"Good!" erupts Eduard. "Good, excellent, I'm - have you seen this place? She should never come near! If she needs anything from me, she can contact my lawyer, but she can't set foot in this hellhole, with these people."

Timo looks to the side, a little awkwardly. "That's not why she's staying away."

"I know," Eduard replies.

"I'm sorry," says Timo, and he looks it. He looks very sorry. "If, Eduard, if there's anything I can do, because I hate the thought of this, and you here, and Katya, and - if there's anything I can do!"

Something about the way he blurts all this out has Eduard suspicious. Or perhaps spending some time in jail has honed his ability to read between the lines to a much higher level. " _You're_ sorry about Katya?" he asks.

Timo nods. "You know, women..." he trails off.

"Why have you got to be sorry?" asks Eduard. "It's not your fault she's leaving me. Is it?"

Timo pales. "Ah, of course not." He chuckles, "Women are simply fickle like that, aren't they?"

Eduard buys less and less of it. He gives Timo a thin, impatient smile. "Of course, Timo," he replies smoothly. And now that he's backed Timo into a corner, he strikes. "You know, there _is_ something you could do for me."

"Anything! I-if it's something you're permitted!" Yes, Eduard's guessed correctly, that's Timo's guilty caught-in-the-act face, alright.

"Send me something to read. Magazines, maybe. It has to come direct from publisher - they package it and stamp the receipt on the box, have it addressed to me. That way, it'll be permitted in. You understand you can't send anything they don't rifle through."

"I understand," says Timo. "Do you have any requests in particular?"

Those books from Lovino. "An Italian dictionary," says Eduard. "Perhaps a grammar book. One of those, teach-yourself packages."

Timo is incredulous. "You pick prison of all times to learn Italian?" He seems to happen upon something and lowers his voice conspiratorially. "It's not - Eduard, is there the mafia inside there with you? You shouldn't get mixed up in with them!"

Eduard has no doubt that Lovino is not who he says he is - and they all did something to arrive here, so it's quite possible - but he'll wait for confirmation. Nevertheless he enjoys taunting his best friend. He smiles. "You never know when good friends will come in handy," he says, being purposefully ambiguous. "And I have people to practice with here. It would be useful. I'd order these things myself but you know, we don't exactly get internet privileges."

Coughing, Timo sputters, "I, ah, I can do that. I just, heh, wouldn't you rather learn Finnish? You've always said you'd been meaning to learn for years, and -"

"My Finnish is fine," Eduard argues. He brightens, falsely. "Maybe you can teach Katya instead."

That shuts Timo up.

The guard on his side bangs on the wall. "Okay kids," he says, to Eduard and the only other person who's got a visitation today, "time to wrap it up."

"Goodbye, Timo," says Eduard.

"Uh, yes," Timo replies, "I, uh. Well. Hang in there, Eduard."

Eduard hangs up the phone. "By the skin of my teeth, I intend to," he mutters to himself.

* * *

  
When Eduard returns from the visit, Braginski has left. This doesn't terribly surprise Eduard. He's probably off trying to glean answers about who Eduard's visitor was. He will be sorely unhappy when he finds it wasn't his wife.

Berwald puts down his book when he enters with the guard. "Don't bother sitting down," he says, "you're coming up here." The guard behind him snorts.

"Excuse me," says Willem, "I called dibs earlier."

"That so," snaps Berwald. "Don't remember you sayin' anything 'bout it. 'Sides y'get him at work tomorrow. An' I haven't had him in awhile."

"I haven't had him in three days!" Willem protests.

"I haven't had 'im in _five_."

Berwald must be a little desperate. Usually he holds off until he has a little more privacy. If Willem were nice about it, he'd let Berwald have Eduard tonight and he'd leave the cell, but there's no chance of him leaving when he's got work early in the morning. (So does Eduard.)

A moment of silence passes. "Yeah, fine," Willem says.

It's embarrassing to be passed around like a toy, thinks Eduard, but that's what he is.

It could be worse. Right now, after that episode with Timo, he needs something a little less impersonal than either Willem or Braginski give him, anyway. Berwald will hold him close.

He scales the steps to Berwald's bunk.

"Y' didn't strip," says Berwald.

"Oh, right," he says. He motions to climb down the bed. "Sorry, I'll just -"

"'S fine," Berwald replies. "C'mere."

Today, Berwald starts by kissing him, gently, their lips brushing together. Eduard leaps into his arms almost happily. He undoes the top three buttons on his jumpsuit, eager to be touched.

If anybody asks why only Berwald seems to like the sissy stuff like kissing, Eduard hasn't heard of it. He would've thought gruff men have no such time for things like that but Berwald is unabashed that he craves affection and warmth as well as a good tight fuck. Slow kissing has always turned Eduard on, though, and in no time flat he's grinding himself on the mattress, seated in front of Berwald.

And yet. It doesn't satisfy him entirely. I'm sorry about Katya, he remembers Timo saying. _Oh, I bet you are..._

He breaks the kiss. "Can I," he asks.

Berwald looks confused. "'Kay," he says uncertainly.

Eduard pushes Berwald back against the wall, where he sits with his legs extended. And then he climbs into Berwald's lap. Like this, he's rubbing his half-hard, clothed dick into Berwald's belly, and sitting on him in such a way, Eduard can feel the warmth through both their jumpsuits of Berwald's erection pressed against his ass. He tries shifting his hips and it draws a soft groan from Berwald, whose hands fly to Eduard's hips. He keeps them there to control subtly Eduard's movements. Back and forth, dragging his ass over Berwald's hard cock, somewhere between a promise and a taste of things to come.

Berwald takes his mouth again, leaning up to kiss him, but this time is a little less passionate, a little more rough. Eduard is shocked at how much he likes it - the shivers start down his spine as Berwald dominates him like that from the bottom, his tongue insistent on free reign of Eduard's mouth.

"Fuckin' pussy ass bullshit," someone says - Eduard can't hear who, but it's not Willem.

"Shut yer trap, Kris," Willem snaps back. "'Til you get one to do with what you like, you don't call no fuckin' shots."

But the dig makes Berwald flinch. Eduard can feel the muscle movement under his hands as he roams them across Berwald's chest.

So he expects it when Berwald rips his jumpsuit apart at the front seam and then shoves him face down on the bed. Much more violently than Berwald usually is.

Can't look _too_ sissy after all, and it's every man for himself.

Eduard breathes hard into the pillow, his forehead dug in deep, as Berwald hoists him up by the hips. He feels his jumpsuit wrenched off his shoulders and complies enough to get his arms out without twisting a wrist; the rest is Berwald, who rips it down his flank and past his waist so the garment hangs loose and tangled between his legs. His underwear is next, yanked hastily over his ass. He shoves Eduard's undershirt up past his nipples. Berwald isn't very careful.

"Hey," says Willem, "don't forget." Something hits the wall beside them both and falls to the bed. It's Eduard's bottle of lube. He looks over. Willem is on his bed. When he catches Eduard's eye, he winks with a curve of his lips too smug to be a smile and waggles his fingers in jest. "You're welcome, kid."

"I ain't fuckin' doin' this shit," Berwald growls. He slaps Eduard on the cheek, which stings and makes him blush, mercifully hidden by the pillow. "You do it."

"Like this?" he asks. "I can't reach like this." And he's all caught in his clothing.

"Fer fuck's sake," Berwald grunts. Then Eduard hears the bottle open and a wet spurt of lube squirted out. Then, there is a pressure at his hole that has him flushed hot to his neck.

It's probably that Berwald has never before done this to him - fucked him with his fingers first - while the other two have, and the novelty is what makes it drenched in hot anticipation. Or maybe that like this, hidden from view of the other inmates who aren't Willem, Berwald is a little bit less rough, doesn't have to posture as much, and two fingers slide in smoothly, his thumb nestled in Eduard's crack, his left hand rubbing Eduard's ass cheek gently, caringly. Perhaps both.

Eduard is instantly fully erect and pushes back with his hips, fucking himself on Berwald's hand, begging silently for more.

Berwald gives him a third and moves closer to him, so close that Eduard can feel the wet trails of Berwald's cockhead on the backs of his thighs. Berwald continues to softly drag his cock across them.

That's when Eduard gets a bit less silent. "Please," he whispers into the pillow. Berwald shoves his fingers in deep. "Please, I need -" and then it all tumbles out in a rush. "God you feel so good, please, do it," he exhales.

Berwald's grip on his ass is suddenly forceful. He removes his fingers and replaces them with the blunt, wide feel of his cock. With his hands on Eduard's hips, he grabs hold and thrusts in hard, in one swift plunge.

Eduard moans, it's a bit much so soon, Berwald is thick, and while it feels good it still carries the burn of being stretched. He spreads his thighs as wide as they'll permit, caught as they are in his clothing, and angles himself to better receive, his ass up in the air with his weight balanced on his forearms. This lets him hide his face in the pillow, so nobody can see him, can see how much he enjoys this.

Berwald sets a fast pace to start as he often does. The past several times, he's acted like an overeager teenager, but he's proven to have stamina.

It doesn't stop for over fifteen minutes.

By this time, every part of Eduard feels warm and tingly, coated with a thin sheen of sweat, and he can't quite reach himself to get off like he wants - like he _so very badly_ wants, this amount of stimulation in his ass have his mind a little foggy from the desire, the pressing need to come. His erection feels heavy and leaden between his thighs, and he can no longer hold back soft breathy moans.

Willem, when Eduard looks over at him, is watching everything and playing with himself slowly, idly, the front of his jumpsuit open to the waist and his hand below the belt, between his legs. "Just fuck him how you like, Ber'," he calls over. "Stop playing. Fuck what anybody says."

This seems to be the catalyst for Berwald who removes himself completely from Eduard's body and physically flips him over. He strips Eduard's clothing off him in a hasty flash, yanks the undershirts over his head, and pitches it all to the ground. Eduard lies naked below him, his legs spread.

Berwald's hair is mussed and sweat-damp, and his face is red with exertion. His lips look red and wet too, like he's been biting them to keep from making a sound, and his eyes are dark.

It would be a terrifying look for him were it not for the fact that Eduard knows he's in no physical danger. But that he wears his want so openly on his face - and it's all for him, Berwald only fucks _him_ \- has Eduard's pulse racing in his throat and throbbing in his cock.

"Yeah," Eduard breathes, feeling sexier than he ever has, "aah, fuck me."

Berwald pounces. He shoves Eduard down by the shoulders and holds him there as he slams himself back in. It should hurt. It doesn't. Helplessly Eduard arches in his arms, as Berwald fucks him with hips like an engine, precise, efficient, pistoning him into the bed.

Then Berwald - _Berwald_ \- puts a hand around him and strokes his cock, tight and firm, once, twice, and Eduard is gone, crying out and coming hard, spurting wet all over his belly, tightening on Berwald's hard cock in his ass.

Braginski notwithstanding - he did it for humiliation purposes - you're probably not supposed to touch another man's cock in here unless you're the bitch, realises Eduard. What's more, they have a witness - Eduard himself of course, and Willem, but as Eduard looks over Willem has his eyes shut, jacking himself off in the open with his cock out and his legs apart, on Eduard's bed. He's not paying any attention to them anymore.

Berwald finishes off close to him, sliding in and out of his body with their chests as close as he can manage. It means having Eduard bent in half, his legs on either side of Berwald's broad shoulders. As he fucks him Berwald gets a lot of Eduard's come on his own skin, smeared across his chest. Eduard's starting to wonder if some of that's on purpose, because Berwald isn't careful about where he puts his hands and drags them all across Eduard's body, frantically touching his waist, then his nipples, tweaking them slickly with his own come. Berwald grunts his way to completion in Eduard's ear.

Below them and across the cell, Willem has finished himself off and is cleaning up.

Eduard has an idea.

"Next time," he whispers to Berwald who has flopped across his body, his hips finally at rest - his dick softening inside him - "we'll do it alone. You can touch whatever of me you want. You know I'm yours."

Berwald leans back to look him in the eye, and when Eduard doesn't smirk or give him an indication that he plans to use it as manipulation, he kisses him deeply.

For Eduard remembers Lovino's advice, which makes a scary amount of sense. _Make him love you. That's more important than manipulating yourself out of the situation._ And Berwald forever on his side - that's an intoxicating thought on its own.

Berwald breaks the kiss to prop himself up on one forearm. He wipes himself off on the bed, without caring about stained sheets, and collapses back beside Eduard, careful not to get too close. "Who was it who came t'visit?" he asks, the curiosity killing even him.

Eduard sees no reason to lie. "My best friend," he says.

"Oh. 'S nice 'f 'im," he supposes.

"Not that nice," Eduard replies. He waits a beat and then murmurs, "He came because he feels guilty. Because he's sleeping with my wife."

And then with a dry, unhappy smile, he removes his wedding ring. For a moment he holds it in his fingers, considering. Then he throws it off the bed, where it lands in the rest of his clothing.

Berwald watches him, much of his attention on Eduard's hands and his lips. "Y' can stay here, t'night, if y'want."

He argues, "My clothes are down there."

"I'll keep ya warm," promises Berwald, his gaze soft, his voice tender.

 _Hook, line, and sinker_ , thinks Eduard, and tangles his legs happily with Berwald's under the thin sheet.


	9. Chapter 9

Their wing gets its rec time in the yard the day after next, but bad luck: it's raining balls out there. The pounding kind of rain that digs up the mud just by landing.  
  
There's nothing to be done about it. You don't get extra rec time because it was rained out. (Not unless you're Braginski, who seems to think his rec time is any wing's rec time.)  
  
Eduard has settled into a usual routine which involves thirty minutes of track and ten minutes of lifting. He much prefers the track, not just because few join him, but also because it's one of the few places his mind can wander. And the tight, choking feeling in his chest is more enjoyable than the burn of weights.  
  
He feels ludicrously stupid lifting weights. Maybe if he actually _had_ some muscles like his cellmates, who flaunt their arms openly, their jumpsuits stripped to the waist, wearing only their undershirts in the rain as it pounds down upon them. Willem's biceps are not only large, they're _decorated_ \- he looks like the kind of guy who lifts. And Berwald - well, Berwald doesn't have the tattoos but his arms are larger than Willem's if that's even possible, though it's true Eduard has more experience touching those - more experience touching Berwald entirely, wrapping his fingers around Berwald's massive forearms, those things should be classified as weapons -  
  
His mind wanders sometimes a bit too much. The rain is welcome on his hot cheeks. He realises that he's been fantasising about his cellmates, and that his speed has slowed to a jog. He pushes himself to sprint twice as hard for five minutes.  
  
Finally he slows. That's roughly thirty minutes.  
  
He returns to the weights and Berwald, who wordlessly hands him the 35 kg barbell. Eduard grimaces, and gets to it.  
  
It's unpleasant to do anything when your clothing is sopping wet and clinging to every curve of your body. Both Willem and Berwald's eyes are curiously magnetised to him, watching his bicep curls, less his technique and more ogling his body. And ordinarily that wouldn't bother him - well, it does, but they're his cellmates, he all but gave them permission to do this, and if they'll protect him they can ogle all they like as far as he's concerned - but they aren't the only ones. A lot of people are watching him. Ogling his body.  
  
If I actually had some bulk, he thinks, they wouldn't stare so. Or maybe tattoos. Or both.  
  
Or they'd stare. But they'd stare and fear him, not look at him like he's meat.  
  
Eduard gives up after three minutes. Pathetic, perhaps, but he's had enough. Just in time for the bell to sound: rec time is over.  
  
They file in a queue. Braginski has joined him now, at his back. He gives Eduard a bright smile that Eduard doesn't trust.  
  
The guards lead them to the showers, and Eduard feels like he really needs it this time. He's covered in muck and grime dredged up from the track, and he'll have to see if he can get his jumpsuit washed because it'll be very cold waiting for it to dry otherwise. He and the rest of the wing abandon their clothing on hooks and hit the showers.  
  
People keep staring at him.  
  
Something's definitely going to happen. He walks a little closer to Braginski, just in case.  
  
Although Braginski - who smiles again and tugs Eduard closer to him by the waist - is half the problem. It's been nice that Braginski has mostly left him alone recently. After Willem's little episode with his _entire fist_ it would have hurt. Braginski could have insisted, Braginski could have hurt him, but didn't. It was kind of him to wait until Eduard felt better. But it would be kinder yet, Eduard feels, if he were this affectionate _away_ from prying eyes, when nobody is watching.  
  
The steam gets thick. Eduard spends about five minutes enjoying hot water before he notices the guard leaving.  
  
That's a bad sign.  
  
Others approach him. They draw nearer. The Danish guy, Beilschmidt, other less attractive and more ogrely types he recognises.  
  
But Berwald, Willem and Braginski are right there!  
  
Braginski is behind him, in fact.  
  
Well, good! Then nobody can do anything, right?  
  
Braginski claps his hands on Eduard's bare shoulders, forcing him to his knees.  
  
Nobody except his cellmates, that is. That was the deal.  
  
"No, not here, please," he says.  
  
"Yes here, I decide!" says Braginski. He's already hard. He strokes himself once in front of Eduard's face, his cock at eye level. It's a game, it's just a game.  
  
(Then it's a game he's losing - his mouth waters and he feels like he's been trained for this. Thought about this when he was running. Thought about the sheer physical _power_ his cellmates have.)  
  
"Why does it have to be in public?" Eduard asks plaintively. Why can't Braginski wait fifteen minutes until they return to their cell? Fifteen minutes and he'd do anything Braginski wanted!  
  
"You're the one who went around the track in skintight, wet clothes!" Braginski says. "What do you think that does to all these nice people in here? Racing around with your ass in the air like you fear nothing?"  
  
He wasn't the only one on the track! There were others! But he was the only one on the track with as slutty a reputation as his. "We made a deal," Eduard stammers, "th-they don't touch me."  
  
Braginski smiles warmly. "They won't. But you understand, it's impolite not to give a show, once you've promised."  
  
"We all wanted rec time! I wasn't the only one running!"  
  
Braginski takes his jaw in a firm grip, and with his other hand, smears his cockhead against Eduard's cheek, leaving a wet trail. Even if it's soon washed off by the water from the shower, Eduard feels it linger, marking him, staining him, painting him owned. (His cock throbs and he gasps and clenches his eyes shut. Not now!! he thinks desperately.)  
  
The other men's eyes - Berwald and Willem included - grow wide and they begin to smile. One of them nearby begins to jack off.  
  
"They won't touch you," Braginski says. "That's the rules."  
  
And more of them start to follow suit, their arms across their bodies as their hands drift low to their erections, shifting back and forth upon them. They look ridiculous, they look like tabletop football players, in sync with each other, or, or marionettes, drawn by a puppeteer ... which, come to think of it, is very much what they are.  
  
Eduard's face is turned away from the crowd by the very one who controls them. Braginski's hand on his jaw directs his face up. "Eduard," he coos softly, almost tenderly. "Darling Edik! Pay them no mind."  
  
And then he yanks Eduard's mouth open with his thumb and shoves himself in.  
  
"Yeah!" someone grunts. "Fuck his fuckin' _face_ ," and Braginski proceeds to do precisely that. He takes Eduard's cheeks in hand and bucks his hips, shoving his hard cock in and out of Eduard's mouth, past his lips strained wide.  
  
It's too fast for Eduard's liking. He wishes Braginski would slow down - wishes Braginski wouldn't do this here! He moans in pain and misery, his eyes clenched shut and tearing at the corners. Luckily, the showers cover for him on that front.  
  
Braginski grabs him by the hair again, tilting his face up. This gives him a different angle in, deeper, down Eduard's throat. It almost makes him gag. Braginski seems to like that; he moans aloud.  
  
This is still too forceful... but Eduard can't deny he likes it a bit, likes being directed and controlled, likes it when Braginski loses himself in the pleasure and lets his guard down. Because how dare Braginski be so aloof when the other two crave him openly! He can't deny that arouses him, and he can't hide his growing erection, either, half hard and aching between his legs.  
  
If he gets any harder than he is now, this position, on his knees, will let everybody see it.  
  
"Fucking loves it hard and rough," says one man off to the side. Eduard sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eyes. The man looks close, his blotchy face red with exertion and his big, meaty hand wrapped hard around his cock, fisting it fast.  
  
"He loves _me_ ," Braginski supplies coolly, stroking Eduard's cheek, "he loves whatever I do to him. Don't you."  
  
Eduard knows what's expected of him; he remembers. One moan for yes, two for no. He answers him with his moans and an arch of his back, subtly moving his body to press himself closer to Braginski's legs.  
  
Braginski shoves himself in hard and Eduard barely manages not to retch. He's sure the moan of pain that he can't hold back sounds more like a moan of something else. Meanwhile, his own cock leaps to life. Of all the times... Why must Braginski always make these things public, display him like a prized whore, own him in full view of everybody and make him like it in front of the audience?! Why can't they do this in private where Braginski can play his body like a toy - _his_ toy - and if he gets called 'slut' for it, it's by only one man who never respected him in the first place? And anyway, he thought Braginski didn't like others playing with his toys!  
  
Yes, that's it exactly, Braginski's _making_ him do this, making him like it. Because he doesn't. And when Braginski backs up, kicks Eduard's knees apart to spread his thighs, exposing him, showing everyone his privates, putting him off balance enough that Eduard falls forward and must keep himself up with his hands on Braginski's massive powerful thighs, that's Braginski's doing entirely and Eduard doesn't like any part of it.  
  
He's convincing himself rather hard of this.  
  
The other men don't dare come near. But they don't have to. Something wet hits his shoulder and trails slow down his upper arm.  
  
_That's_ not water.  
  
His eyes widen in rage and above him, Braginski smiles.  
  
"Fuckin' cock-lovin' whore," the red-faced man sighs.  
  
"You did not pay in advance. You'll owe me later, then?" asks Braginski, the perfect businessman, hardly taking note of Eduard now and thrusting away merrily into his mouth.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," the man says. He gathers his personal effects and leaves.  
  
Braginski is _making money_ off him.  
  
The least Braginski could do is pay attention to him!  
  
_All_ of his attention!  
  
Anther wet spot falls on his cheek. It drips slowly down past his jaw. Someone moans, then something heavy falls in his hair.  
  
This is _disgusting_. Eduard wants to wipe it off but no sooner has he lifted his hand from Braginski's thigh than Braginski says, "Ah ah ah," a warning to Eduard.  
  
"Excellent," he continues to the crowd, all business and no fun. "Good shot, Jones. Keep going, all of you," he adds.  
  
"You'll give us a cut too, I presume?" asks Willem. Trust Willem to sniff out easy money!  
  
"Hmm, depends," says Braginski, "are you going to participate in the money making?" He thrusts in hard into Eduard's mouth, making him moan again. "This is hard work, you know."  
  
Off to the side, Berwald snorts derisively and from what Eduard can see, pretends not to be paying attention, ignoring the erection he sports. He catches Eduard's eyes, watching him past Braginski's cock, and turns away.  
  
"I could do that," Willem says, and gets on his knees behind Eduard.

"Hey!" calls out the Danish guy, Willem's friend, "if there was a call for volunteers, goes to us first, don't it?"  
  
"Not your bitch," says Willem, and with two slick fingers - Eduard has no idea if that's lube or hair product or more disgustingly some of the come that's landed on his body - penetrates his asshole. It's very sudden, no preamble, no warning, and the shock has him on alert. But Eduard's body knows Willem by now and the tingles shoot down his spine. He whines and spreads his knees further, sucking down more of Braginski's cock.  
  
"Such a fucking whore," Braginski sighs. Eduard moans once around him, helpless to agree. Braginski can't help it, he thrusts in faster, Eduard fantasises that he's taken aback by how much he wants this, how much he wants Eduard, how difficult it is to fool himself into only liking his mouth when truth be told he probably wants to have him from behind as badly as the rest of them do. He moans again.  
  
Willem's twisting his fingers inside him, spreading them wider, opening him up. This arouses him so much now and he arches again, pushing back against Willem's hand, willing to be fucked - _very_ willing - as long as it's by one of them. (And preferably in private. But we can't have everything we want in life, now, can we?)  
  
Someone else obviously likes this line of thought too. Eduard hears a groan and warm come spills on his shoulder blades. _Disgusting!_ His cock twitches and he shivers.  
  
"That was a bit close," Braginski comments.  
  
It's Beilschmidt who answers. "What, you gonna get a ruler out and check?" he snaps.  
  
"You in particular stay away," Braginski says, pushing more softly into Eduard's mouth, caringly, drifting over his tongue. Eduard rewards him with a tighter suction and flicks his tongue over the head as he bobs his head up and down. Yes, thank you, that's better, he thinks, you don't have to brutalise me to make me yours.  
  
Behind him, Willem lifts him by the hips. "Bit hard like this."  
  
Braginski nods. "Back up," he instructs, and as Willem does, tugging Eduard towards him by the waist, Braginski gets on his knees. "There, now you," and Willem props Eduard up on all fours. With no warning he shoves his cock inside him.  
  
"Aah!" he cries. Someone in the crowd laughs.  
  
"Good, he's still tight," Willem groans. "Oh fuck, _nice_ and tight."  
  
"I shall take your word on it," says Braginski. Eduard must betray something of disappointment in his face because Braginski continues, "For now." Then he takes Eduard by the head and directs him down, further down, between Braginski's massive thighs, where Eduard has to lower himself to his forearms. Eye-level with and inches from Braginski's hard, wet, spit-shined cock - with his ass in the air - his mouth waters again. Now he's fully erect. He can't hide it. Everyone can _see_. He wishes he didn't like it so much but he does, he really does, and Willem fucking him behind pushes him into Braginski's lap.  
  
This is exactly what he wanted, precisely what he'd imagined and fantasised about. Willem taking him from behind, Braginski from the front in his mouth. The situation alone excites him terribly, to say nothing of how Willem feels inside him, and he has a hard time keeping from coming so obviously and messily in front of all these people. And nobody is touching him either, they'd know how much he loved it like this. But the terror outweighs the thrill of his shame and that helps to keep him where he is: faceplanted in Braginski's lap, his mouth forced onto Braginski's cock from Willem's forceful thrusts, his own pendulous and heavy and leaking no doubt, but not coming. Not just yet.  
  
Some time passes in a delirious blur of sensation - Eduard of course sees nothing but Braginski's cock, hears little but the roar of water, and his kinesthetic senses are preoccupied with how very good it feels for Willem to ride him hard. He barely registers four more people adding their input to his back.  
  
By the time the fourth shot hits him, Willem's thrusts have sped up. He shoves himself in deeper with shallow rocking movements. His thighs shake against Eduard's ass. He's close, Eduard realises, recognising the signs.  
  
An agonising minute passes. Willem's gasps are loud and he makes no attempt to silence himself. He lets everybody know how much he wants Eduard's ass, how tight he is, how they wish they had a bitch this good, as the head of his cock pushes against Eduard's prostate and Eduard veers dangerously close to orgasm himself, pushing back against Willem. Braginski helps by distracting him, yanking his hair hard, forcing his mouth open wider so that Braginski has less far to move with Eduard's face in his lap.  
  
When Willem finally stills and groans, coming deep inside him, Eduard says a silent prayer for it, thankful for the recession of stimulation so that he can get a better grip on himself. If anybody touched him right now, he'd explode.  
  
But then Willem becomes a major participant in orchestration. "Listen up, you," he says to Braginski, as he pulls out of Eduard, "I know more about this kinda thing than you do."  
  
"Oh! is that so?" asks Braginski, sugar-sweet. "Please elaborate!"  
  
"Yeah," says Willem, "because I spend more time lookin' at porn when you barely care for the stuff. So don't finish in his mouth, you're gonna finish in his ass." Willem - that jerk - proves a point by tracing a finger fondly over Eduard's asshole, exposed and still slick and as much as he'd love to deny it, aching for more. He moans.  
  
"I am, am I," replies Braginski. "I think I'd rather do what I want." He pets Eduard's hair. "This is nice like this."  
  
Willem leans in over Eduard, like he's not even there, even though his softening prick trails wetly across the back of Eduard's thighs and Eduard is impossible to miss with his ass in the air. "Get a clue," sneers Willem softly, "some of these men would do some very bad things to be in your place inside his ass. You can get a blowjob any old time. Take him here, make him scream, they'll be green with envy."  
  
"I don't have much care for his ass," Braginski says, "but I like the control over those too busy being jealous."  
  
Eduard files this away for later.  
  
"Go on," Willem instructs, slapping Eduard on the ass, "turn around and give the nice man your asshole."  
  
"Yeah, ya fuckin' slut," shouts another inmate. "Do him hard!" and as Eduard follows Willem's orders - crawling on the ground to back himself up near Braginski's groin - someone else lands come on his shoulder. It drips slowly down his arm.  
  
This is so _degrading._  
  
Braginski pushes himself in, balls-deep, and at least Braginski in his ass makes it easy for him to forget that the other men are really there when Braginski's the only one that matters. "A-aah," sighs Braginski, "I will admit you may have a point." He does _something_ that has him twitching inside Eduard, pushing against his prostate. Eduard nearly screams, he has to sink his teeth down into his lips to make himself shut up. There's nothing to hold onto on the slick shower floor, but his body jerks backwards, reflexively, wanting more.  
  
Braginski has a better time than he expects, which unfortunately means Eduard has a better time than he expects. He lingers there, horrified at how close he is, as Braginski assaults him, his cock firm in his ass, a delicious slow burn. Braginski losing control in his body is slowly becoming a recurrent fantasy of his, and as Braginski speeds up, huffing quietly behind Eduard to the rhythm of his hips, Eduard pictures his face, eyes clenched shut and brow furrowed, and is thankful nobody is touching him.  
  
It suddenly becomes overwhelming - he arches as Braginski behind him shoves in again and his cockhead nudges gently against his prostate - he _could_ come from this, without even being touched, he's _going_ to come! - oh god oh god not here, he thinks, not like this, but the rest of him thinks only of pleasure and plunging head-first into it, he's so hard, so close, he _wants_ , a bit more - someone comes on his back and as it drips down between his shoulder blades, he gasps -  
  
"You're the only one not paying attention," says Willem.  
  
"Hm," says Berwald noncommittally.  
  
"See? What, don't you care? Don't you care about your bitch?"  
  
Berwald grumbles, "He's just a bitch. Yer not s'pose ta care fer 'im like a chick or somethin'. Talkin' like ya _like_ 'im."  
  
Willem chuckles low in his throat. "You're _lyiiing,_ " he sing-songs.

Braginski slows down, interested in the developments between them, and in his head Eduard is screaming, no, please, keep going! He backs his hips up onto Braginski's cock, fucking himself, but Braginski is no longer as forthcoming with his movements and now avoids thrusting himself where Eduard would really like him to go.  
  
Eduard lets out a long sigh of disappointment, then curses himself as his mind returns. What is he _thinking_ , pursuing pleasure like that in front of all these men, who, if it weren't for his cellmates, would pass him between them for days? (His cock throbs. No, you _don't_ want that, he tries to tell it. They'd rip him in two, literally.)  
  
"Shut yer fuckin' mouth," Berwald replies. This is the rough, dangerous tone of voice he uses when he's actually angry. "Don't give two shits 'bout some fuckin' cockslut."  
  
Willem softens. "You misunderstand me, my friend! I don't mean to say you love him or some bullshit -"  
  
And this is when Braginski, behind him, lowers to whisper in Eduard's ear.  
  
"But you and I both know he does, do we not?" he hisses. He is bent over Eduard, propped up with one forearm. His other hand he drifts over Eduard's backside, caressing it more gently than Eduard has known Braginski to be thus far. "He has gotten so very upset watching me fuck you, when I use you like this, like the property you are, and you love it so much you ache for it, because when he - ha ha! - when he _makes love_ to you - it makes me laugh! - you don't beg him for more like you do with me! It is funny! Watching him love you like the great _softie_ he is. I wonder if his ass is as tight as yours."  
  
Eduard's blood runs cold.  
  
"You should find out! And do let me know. Maybe it means an end in sight for you, yes? Ah, we shall make this our little secret, Edik." He leans back up as Willem comes closer, squats down next to Eduard's face and continues blathering to Berwald, antagonising him.  
  
Braginski's figured it out too.  
  
That Berwald likes men. A bit too much.  
  
Braginski could use it against Berwald. Eduard would have one less bodyguard.  
  
That _can't_ happen!  
  
...Why is Braginski volunteering that information, anyway? He never does anything without a reason...  
  
Willem's still talking. "- and if you don't start showing a little physical appreciation for him, he's gonna start thinking you don't like him!" Willem's voice is syrupy sweet and mocking as he puts his fingers in Eduard's mouth, the thumb rubbing over his lip, holding his mouth open with a firm grip on his jaw. "We can't have that."  
  
Caught between Braginski's barely muffled grunts behind him - he likes Eduard's ass just fine, it seems - and Willem's fingers in his mouth, holding it open for Berwald, beckoning...  
  
Eduard gives in at least to himself. He wants this, so _badly_. It's hot, it's arousing, even if they've got an audience, and he has to keep up the pretense of disliking it, making it seem like he's being taken against his will, forced into this. Though he's not the world's biggest fan of all that come on him, he thinks, just as another man groans and shoots his load over Eduard, landing on the small of his back and trailing into his crack. And Berwald -  
  
Well. Berwald stands at the other end of the showers, his expression unreadable and his eyes dark. Eduard doesn't find many men attractive but there's something about Berwald that has him arching into Braginski's thrusts, pushing back against him, tightening and clenching around his cock. At the simple thought of Berwald, he starts acting up. He sucks Willem's thumb into his mouth, his eyes on Berwald's.  
  
It's a bit manipulative. It's a _lot_ manipulative. But if Berwald doesn't start acting more openly like Eduard is a _thing_ to him, instead of fucking him like they're lovers when nobody's watching and ignoring him the rest of the time, he runs the risk of giving Braginski one too many clues, which puts them _both_ in danger.  
  
Come on, he pleads with his eyes, fuck me, make it hard, you love it, you want to, _I_ want you to -  
  
Because he does, he really does, and the more Berwald fucks him at all, the more Berwald will love him, the more _Eduard_ can use that against him before Braginski does.  
  
Berwald has no choice. Having been called out by Willem, he has to act, so he does and approaches.  
  
"If he's so reluctant," someone else says, "I'll take his place!"  
  
"Hah. Don't think so," says Berwald. He comes closer. From this angle he can't do much but Braginski is nearly done, panting and groaning, his balls slapping wetly against Eduard's.  
  
At last, Braginski pulls out. "He's all yours," he says, and slaps Eduard hard on the ass.  
  
"I don't get on m' damn knees," Berwald replies, "not even fer a good bitch."  
  
Eduard opens his mouth, ready to suck him, believing that that's the next step.  
  
"I have an idea!" suggests Willem triumphantly. "What if we did something else?"  
  
Oh god, no. Not Willem and his _ideas!_  
  
Willem picks him up as Braginski moves away and gets to his feet. After so long on his knees, with his legs spread wide, Eduard feels unstable on his feet and leans backwards into Willem, who keeps a firm hold on him around the waist, keeping Eduard's back to Willem's chest. With his other arm, Willem scoops Eduard's legs up from under him.  
  
He's in midair, unbalanced and surprised, when Berwald steps between the legs that Willem pulls apart. Berwald swings one up to his shoulder, bending Eduard nearly in two.  
  
He gets the picture. His other leg, he curls around Berwald's waist to draw him in.  
  
Berwald slips his cock inside like he owns the place, like it's rightfully his, and Eduard fails to hold back a breathy sigh. It feels so good, _Berwald_ feels so good, he doesn't even have to be lubed up because Eduard's got soap and come and fuck knows what else Willem put up there.  
  
Willem holds him upright with his arms around Eduard's torso and Berwald fucks him like that, suspended between two men in midair, as Braginski (who evidently didn't finish) draws nearer.  
  
"Pretty picture we make," says Braginski. "Finish us all, and you can come too, little one."  
  
"I'm too far for you," Eduard argues breathlessly, "too far to reach with my mouth." He also hopes he doesn't have to put it back in his mouth after it's been in his ass.  
  
"No, but your hands are free," he replies. And his arms are long enough to reach Braginski's cock when Braginski steps closer to Willem.  
  
Eduard has by now lost count of how many people have come on him. His back having been painted, they've now moved to landing it on his front. The water from the showers quickly rinses it off but not before he feels it, marked on his flesh. One catches it in his hands and tries to smear it across Eduard's face but Berwald catches him by the wrist and tightens his grip. He doesn't even miss a beat, his hips consistent.  
  
"Ow!!" the man says.  
  
"Hands off m' bitch," Berwald growls, and Eduard tips again towards oblivion.  
  
"That's the rules," Braginski says.  
  
Berwald pushes in deep, knocking both Eduard and Willem into the shower walls. And is it his imagination, or power of suggestion, that the hand that Berwald puts on the shower tile to brace himself, as he squishes Eduard between them, is a little too close to Willem's shoulder? And that Berwald doesn't dare kiss him here, that speaks volumes. It means he _knows_ it's wrong, he knows it'll get him turned out just like Eduard, but if that's the case then why does he do it at all? Because he can?  
  
Because he wants to. Because he _likes_ it. Because he likes _him_ in ways he shouldn't.  
  
Victory, thinks Eduard.  
  
"Yeah, fuck him hard," goads Willem from behind Eduard's shoulder, "you know you want to, want to punish him for liking anything other than your cock, you fuckin' love this bitch, don't you?"  
  
You fucking love this, bitch -  
  
\- you fucking love _this bitch_ -  
  
\- _don't you?_  
  
Berwald roars through a particularly vicious jab of his hips into Eduard's and slams his fist up against the tile next to Willem's head. "You shut yer face," he yells, "or I'll shut it for good!"  
  
"Now now," Braginski moans, as Willem chuckles, "temper, temper."  
  
But it's true, he does, Eduard can see it in his face, of course he does!  
  
He leans back on Willem's shoulder as Braginski fucks his hand and Berwald pushes his way in from the other side with a burn and sting that shouldn't feel as good as it does because he hasn't been adequately prepared for this, not with fingers - and this is the third cock he's taken in twenty minutes, holy fuck, how did he become such a slut?  
  
Berwald backs up. Eduard tries to lift his head again but Willem yanks him back down by the hair and holds his neck open to dig his teeth in.  
  
Someone else ejaculates on him. It slowly slides down his collarbone to his nipple.  
  
He barely notices. Next to them, at waist level, Braginski stiffens and comes into Eduard's fist. He takes Eduard by the hand and drags it down his chest to his own cock, pinned between Berwald and his own body, plied in two as it is.  
  
"Wait," instructs Braginski, watching Berwald's face. Eduard whines, he's still so close! He can't get any purchase but he needs none, when Willem holds him up perfectly so that every one of Berwald's thrusts hit home and make his head spin and his cock twitch. If he could just jack himself off it would take nothing, no time, because he loves the attention, being picked up and held and _fucked!_  
  
Berwald finally thrusts in deep, groaning low in his throat and shuddering against them both.  
  
"Now, you can," Braginski instructs, and wraps their enlaced fingers around Eduard's dick. Eduard shakes as he fucks their joined hands to completion, firmly, his fist wet with come - Braginski's, and then his - Berwald's softening prick in his ass, and arches in Willem's arms as he moans.  
  
Berwald steps back once he's finished. His full weight in Willem's arms is too great for long so he's set down on the shower floor, gently by Willem's standards. And for a moment Eduard just sits there, propped up against the wall, gasping for breath as he takes the aftershocks.  
  
Some people approach but know better than to get too close, even when his cellmates have left the shower room. Two more shoot their loads on him, and their come lands on his chest, dripping down slowly.  
  
Eduard, dazed, does nothing.  
  
Eventually, he returns to the present and moves to pick himself up off the floor.  
  
But one person's not done yet. The swarthy one who tried to ruffle his hair, Sadik, takes aim and gets him right in the face.  
  
With contempt, he wipes it off and flicks it away as Sadik laughs.  
  
But although his three protectors are waiting outside, nobody else goes near him.  
  
Not to antagonise him. Nor to help him up. Because nobody helps the bitch, he realises sourly. He's glad they're leaving him alone, but it gives him a sicker feeling of humiliation, one he doesn't enjoy. Because he can't get any power from them pretending he doesn't exist! And the come staining his skin feels like a permanent brand, no matter how easily it rinses off and swirls down the drain.  
  
He knows his place. But he won't be pitied for it, he won't be ignored. And if they're all going to look the other way and pretend he isn't there, then it won't be because he's  _too pathetic_ to waste time on. It'll be because they don't dare attempt anything with him. And for that, he needs to be more dangerous, with or without muscles.  
  
Bodyguards are not enough. He needs to start using his wits.


	10. Chapter 10

A few days after what he now thinks of as the shower incident, Eduard receives a package from Timo through the bookstore. It's exactly what he had asked for - a teach-yourself-Italian course that promises fluency in six months with regular lessons.  
  
Timo has not added a note in the receipt. Eduard smiles grimly.  
  
He finishes the last book in the mystery trilogy, which he admits he had figured out a whole book ago.  
  
He doesn't tell Braginski this, however. Because Braginski tells him that _he_ saw the end coming about mid-way through the third and spoils Eduard for the end, goading him while he sucks Braginski off again. (It's a blowjob per book.) Somehow, Braginski strikes him as a terrible loser with a nasty competitive streak. And besides, Eduard's mouth was full at the time.  
  
He meets Lovino a few days later for supplies. He hasn't made as much headway in the package that Timo sent, not as much as he'd like, but it's enough to hold a small conversation. It helps that another lockdown passes before this time, and Willem extracting sexual favours from him is not enough to take up two full days of dreariness.  
  
"Wow," says Lovino, eyeing him over his cigarette, "you really _are_ bored."  
  
He shrugs.  
  
When he asks Lovino about tattoos, Lovino doesn't seem phased. "Dunno if that'll look good on you, though," he adds. "You're not the type."  
  
"I don't want it to make me look good, necessarily," Eduard says, "I want it to make me look rough."  
  
"What're you concerned about that for? You got your bodyguards, haven't you? People're smart enough about them not to touch you."  
  
But they don't have to touch Eduard to humiliate him. The shower incident is concrete proof of that. Moreover, despite Lovino's advice, which is to _lie back and think of freedom_ , Eduard still has designs on starting over. "And supposing I leave." For that matter, he doesn't know when his cellmates' sentences end. "Or _they_ leave. People need to know not to get involved with me when they're not around to enforce it."  
  
"You know you'll have it on you for the rest of your life, right?"  
  
Eduard snorts. "I am _in jail_. I think we've established that I'll never again have a 'normal job'. You might save the sermon for the misguided youth of today's society. Besides, I don't intend to put it on my _face_. I'll cover it up. But I'm sure you've noticed I don't do a lot of covering up in this place. I'd like that to stop. I just want to be left alone."  
  
"You know you'd have to do something real bad to deserve a transfer," Lovino says. He nods, fully prepared for that. "They'll extend your time for it, too. You'll be spending longer than - how long are you in here for?"  
  
His heart sinks. That's a good point. "Ten years."  
  
Lovino laughs derisively. "Ten years is a sentence they dole out for violence. You said you got sent here for fraud, fraud's like, six months max, or you can pay a damn fine. I don't like liars, kid."  
  
It seems rude to ask what people did to land them in jail, but Eduard supposes he trusts Lovino enough that the information won't get back to Braginski. He shoulder checks - nobody around them seems to care about their conversation; the bottle of lube that Eduard has bought off Lovino, standing proud on the table, is more than enough social deterrent - then leans in. "I stole a _lot_ of money from someone fairly important," he explains, "and not all of it was found. They didn't like that. I should've taken it all, because come the trial, they still had plenty of money and friends in the right places to hire a damn good lawyer. She argued a mean case, and won." Williams hadn't stood a chance against Héderváry.  
  
"What'd you do, rob a bank?" Lovino asks.  
  
Eduard shakes his head. "Hacked it."  
  
Lovino looks at him with new eyes. "Shit. You're one a them smart kids. Man, I used to pick on people like you for lunch money. I thought you kids went to Harvard or some shit, not - medium security prison."  
  
Eduard grimaces. "Can you get this smart kid a tattoo or not?"  
  
He taps the ash off his cigarette. "Best guy in here is Kristiansen. The Dane. Van Dijk knows him. You should ask him, next time -" he snorts - "next time you're not otherwise occupied." Eduard rolls his eyes. "Beefing up helps too, though. I saw you last time in the yard, quit skimpin' on your lifts."  
  
"I'll do that," he says. _I saw you last time in the yard_ , he hears. Hmm, _did_ he, now. Well, _everybody_ ogled him that day, why is it a surprise anymore. But it's not quite the same coming from Lovino, somehow. Lovino has a funny way of making him feel grandmothered.  
  
"Any word on..." Eduard doesn't feel safe enough to speak the word 'Braginski' aloud. Whether many are paying attention to him or not, he suspects overhearing the word will attract attention. " _Il mio amico russo?_ " he finishes.  
  
"Nice accent."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Nah, don't be, I meant it. Sounds real nice." Lovino leans in closer. "But, ah. Nothing yet. Friend of his got put into solitary. Don't think he cares too much though. He seems happy. Keep him happy. Just don't go, uh. Don't go making deals with the devil."  
  
Eduard remembers Braginski leaning over him, whispering nasty, but likely true, things about Berwald's sexuality. He replies by humming.  
  
"If you're so smart you can tell a computer to give you money that isn't yours, then you're smart enough to take whatever you want on your own," Lovino replies. "Don't hire help you don't need." He puts out the cigarette. "And you do not _want_ his help. You're beholden to him, you can kiss your ass goodbye. You got that?"  
  
Between Berwald and Braginski, it's clear who Lovino backs. "Thanks," Eduard says. "That's everything for now."  
  
Lovino strokes the inside of his wrist with the back of his hand as Eduard stands up. "Hey, uh..." he begins.  
  
The simple, casual touch has Eduard's hair standing on end. Nobody - and that's _nobody_ \- touches him in here who isn't his cellmates, or the guards. And the guards do it less and less now that they know he's private property.  
  
"How're _you_ doing?" Lovino asks quietly. He looks concerned.  
  
Eduard pauses. He gives Lovino a cautious, neutral stare before he answers in Italian, simply, with broken sentences. "I'm as good as possible. You hear about the shower."  
  
Lovino nods. "'S why I'm asking. You okay?"  
  
"It was -" electrifying, humiliating - "nothing bad. Not worse. I expect these things now. What to say? If you hear, then you know what they do to me."  
  
"I heard this time were others."  
  
"They don't touch me. They ..." He struggles for a euphemism. Funnily enough, his book hasn't taught him the word for 'come'. "They finish the business, they leave."  
  
"You should get checked just in case."  
  
Eduard frowns. "Why? You worry about me?"  
  
The following is said in beautiful, fluid Italian, more slowly than Lovino ordinarily speaks (in any language) which is obviously an effort he's making for Eduard the learner. "Sometimes I think you got the biggest balls of them all in here, taking on those three."  
  
For the first time Eduard wonders if maybe Lovino is doing this - agreeing to meet with him, exchanging supplies and information for his cigarette allowance that Willem pays - for a piece of him, too. His mouth, maybe. Lovino doesn't seem anything more than thoroughly straight with no exceptions. But a mouth's a mouth.  
  
Lovino is objectively handsome, in a grizzled, cynical way. Not too physically threatening - stocky but on the short side, and he's got his own share of scars and tattoos, as do they all, but little mars his face. And he's nice to Eduard, not just nice but decently friendly, in a time when nobody really is, not even his own cellmates. It doesn't make much sense. As a general rule, nobody's nice to the bitch, and Lovino is nice to nobody.  
  
Not for _free_ , anyway.  
  
He remains silent. And he looks at Lovino again, appraisingly. His mouth - his full lips - his cheekbones. His jawline. Lovino's dark eyes dart away first.  
  
Eduard picks up the bottle of lube, and leaves.  


* * *

"What the fuck you want a tattoo for?" snaps Willem when he asks.  
  
Eduard shrugs. "I hear you know the best guy in the joint."  
  
"Yeah, well, don't say it around him, got a big enough head already." He glowers. "I don't see what this has to do with your protection so I don't see why I gotta get involved."  
  
He'll have to betray more of his hand. "Everyone in here has at least one. I stand out without any," Eduard explains. "This way I'll look less like a pushover. I want people not to bother me, without having to constantly invoke you three. Or don't you get annoyed at me tagging along all the time because the bitch can't be let out on the loose without a leash? I'm sure you've other things to do than make sure someone's always around for babysitting duties."  
  
Willem considers it. "That's true," he says.  
  
"Then?"  
  
So they go to see Willem's Danish friend, who is strange and creepy (everybody in this place is, in his own way) but if Willem's own arms are anything to go by, can be trusted not to fuck up your skin permanently. Willem's Danish friend - 'name's Kristiansen, but you can call him Kris', says Willem - Eduard suspects that's more his last name than his first - is sitting at a table with another fellow Eduard doesn't recognise. The other fellow spots Willem approaching and leaves immediately.  
  
Now that's what he wants. People see him coming and don't bother getting involved, or getting in his face, they just _leave him alone,_ and _they're_ the ones walking away. _They_ back down.  
  
Kris hardly notices it and continues drawing. He has a large sketchpad out and is moving a pencil across it in wide, careful strokes. The pencil looks like it's been sharpened with a knife. He works on drawing of a disembowelled body, the entrails lovingly shadowed. Nice.  
  
"Whaddaya want," he asks the table. When Willem doesn't answer he looks up and spots Eduard. "What're _you_ doin' here?"  
  
"Kid wants tats," shrugs Willem.  
  
This raises Kris' eyebrows and he grins. "You," he says slowly, "want tattoos."  
  
His mocking expression has Eduard suddenly struck by a wave of shyness he hasn't felt since high school. Eduard can't act like that in here, though, so he pushes himself to snap back, "Will you do it or not?"  
  
Kris emits a bark of a laugh and closes the sketchpad, tucking the pencil behind his ear. "Sure," he replies. He kicks out the chair in front of him and gestures for Eduard to sit. "Alright, kiddo. Where you want 'em?"  
  
It can't possibly be that easy. Eduard looks to Willem for assistance but Willem is of no help and shrugs. He remains standing but tells Eduard, "Go on."  
  
So he sits, and points to the outside of his right forearm. "Something here," he says. That way, it shouldn't hurt too much.  
  
"Uh-huh," says Kris. He leans closer and stretches out his hand, but before he touches Eduard he looks up past him to Willem. Willem must nod or give some sort of acquiescence because Kris grins even wider and finally touches him, a single stroke of his finger on Eduard's skin. He does it lightly, his touch more an itch than anything. Eduard fights to keep still despite how badly he wants to rip his arm back and clutch it protectively to his chest. "And what do you want? A pretty little flower? A heart, a _fairy?_ "  
  
"I don't care. Nothing religious," Eduard says.  
  
"No? Shame!" Kris jeers. "Was lookin' forward to writing 'Whore of Babylon' given how much you fuckin' _take it_ -"  
  
"Alright, enough of this shit," grumbles Willem. He leans over Eduard from behind, close enough that Eduard can feel the heat from his chest. "You're going to put whatever you want on him, but it's gonna look _sick_. Something with knives and flames. Doesn't fuckin' matter. Make it badass."  
  
"That so?" asks Kris.  
  
"You're the artist," Eduard supposes, and having seen what Kris was drawing, he's _very_ good. Though it's some pretty awful stuff he draws. If Eduard gets out of here and somehow manages to get a desk job, he'll never wear short-sleeved collared shirts again. Luckily, that's unlikely, because the last time they let him at a computer he used it in his off-hours to siphon a rather large sum of money.  
  
Kris is almost laughing by this point. "Forgive me for taking such enjoyment," he says to Willem, with obvious sarcasm, "it's not every day a guy gets told he can go nuts."  
  
Willem hmphs.  
  
"But, ah, there is one more matter," continues Kris, tracing a finger idly up and down Eduard's forearm. "Of payment?"  
  
Willem begins, "You'll get -"  
  
"And don't even think about trying to haggle," Kris interrupts him. "Because you and I both know that of all the idiots who do this kinda thing, I actually work clean."  
  
"Yeah, _now_ you do," Willem snaps.  
  
"I know what I'm doing, an' I can do some real nice shit on your, ah ... little _friend_ here -" Kris pauses to chuckle - "so what's it gonna be, Willem? Can't imagine he's paying for it, 'less you give him an _allowance_."  
  
Uncomfortably, Eduard coughs.  
  
"Besides, you pay the buddy's price, but he don't," Kris adds.  
  
"You said you were clean," says Willem, and Kris shuts up immediately, anticipating where this is going but still a bit amazed. After all, it's been nearly two months now, and Willem, Berwald and Braginski have all kept their end of the bargain fastidiously. Only they touch Eduard, though they have no qualms about showing him off. And why wouldn't they? They have something nobody else has, and sharing him around is too risky.  
  
For Eduard, cigarettes are money. For Willem, _Eduard_ is money.  
  
"I am," says Kris slowly.  
  
Willem must nod, because Kris grins again. "You can have him, once you're done with his arm," Willem says. "Do anything you want, but no bleeding him or breaking him. No _fancy business_."  
  
"Didn't get sent here for fancy business," says Kris. "I just wanna get my dick wet like normal folk."  
  
"Well I don't care what you want," Willem says. He places his hand on Eduard's upper arm, gathering him close to Willem's chest. A strange sort of protective gesture when he's bartering Eduard out.  
  
"Might take more than one sitting," he replies.  
  
"So have him twice, I don't give a fuck, just get it done."  
  
"And you might get bored."  
  
"I'll bring a fucking book! Jesus."  
  
Kris' grin grows wider still. It's the horrible kind of wide grin, a Cheshire cat grin, a Joker grin. A predator's toothy smile. Eduard's seen it before, most recently on Braginski.  
  
And not for the first time today, Eduard has a sinking feeling he may regret this.  


* * *

The tattoo gun is an electric toothbrush's motor, attached to what looks like the outside tube of a plastic ballpoint pen, braced to a spoon handle and held together with electrical tape. The needle is a guitar string that Kris runs through his lighter's flame for a minute before he threads it backwards through the pen housing, attaching it at the top to the button of an overcoat that's glued to the motor. He flicks on the motor and shows Eduard how the motor controls the needle, dipping it in and out vertically from the hole in the pen's nib. To Eduard, it looks uncomfortably sexual. Kris' leer doesn't help.  
  
It'll work, sure, but there's no way this has been sanitised properly. "I thought you said you were clean," he says.  
  
"This _is_ clean," Kris replies. Eduard's apprehension only grows.  
  
He watches as Kris carefully fills the pencil housing with what he claims is a mixture of baby oil, rubbing alcohol and candle-soot. "Shoe polish works too," Kris says. "Got a few more chemicals in it though. Harder to get on the inside. Maybe next time, if you're as good a lay as everybody sings it."  
  
"Soot is fine," Eduard replies flatly.  
  
He wishes he'd taken Katya's friend up on the acupuncture offer a long time ago. Maybe he'd've been better prepared for the pain of tattooing - pinpricks, and one isn't very painful but it's a constant drilling, needling, into his _flesh_ , and it stings worse than any bee he's ever met. It's worse when he's watching and he can see it coming. Some parts hurt more than others and he has to strain to keep still instead of jerking out of Kris' hard grasp.  
  
"Sensitive, huh?" asks Kris with a bright leer. Eduard holds his tongue.  
  
"Wouldn't you love to know," Willem snaps.  
  
Kris cackles. "Well I'm gonna," he says.  
  
Slowly, Eduard learns to embrace the feeling as best he can, or at least let go of his apprehension, and before too long he's watching with rapt attention as the needle touches his skin. It hurts still - it hurts a _lot_ \- but it's somehow distant. He imagines he can see it slip in and out of him, dotting his flesh like a sewing machine, even though the motor is too fast for his eyes.  
  
In fact, he can't see much. Before long his entire arm is a mess of black that Kris doesn't wipe clean very often. The lines that Kris is drawing must be visible only from his perspective.  
  
At some point Willem leaves, because Kris starts chatting him up, less creepily when Willem's not around to posture in front of. "So he wanted ya marked, huh. Well, the gangs do it all the time. Whose idea was this?" he asks. "Van Dijk and the Ox don't seem the type. Braginski? I guess, _maybe_ , but he sure don't like others touchin' you -"  
  
"It was mine," Eduard murmurs.  
  
Kris snorts. "Yeah, punk, pull the other one."  
  
"Really. I wanted something, all Willem did is take me to see you."  
  
"Hm," says Kris. "And after this is... what, exactly?"  
  
"I've been told it's the most valuable thing I've got to trade," he replies.  
  
"That your idea too?"  
  
Eduard hesitates before he answers. "It hasn't been my idea since I got here, but then again it hasn't been my choice."  
  
Kris puts down the tattoo gun, holding it in his hands but not touching it to Eduard, and switches the motor off. He stares at Eduard with an inscrutable expression for what seems a long moment, then shakes his head, repositions the gun and picks up where he left off, for Willem has returned.  
  
Eventually, he manages to slip beneath the pain and prickle of what Kris is doing to his skin (permanently, and that hasn't escaped his mind) and float, under the surface. It's still painful, but somehow it bubbles through him. He isn't sleeping - his eyes have yet to close - but it's as though he sees through his own skin as he watches Kris paint upon it, sees through everything entirely, staring himself into a trance.  
  
Hours pass. Two, perhaps three. Four? He doesn't know. Eduard hardly feels them pass when the pain takes cognitive precedence. It's a good if slightly masochistic way to kill time and stop from going crazy bored, he figures. Maybe that's partly why the people in here do it so often.  
  
Finally, Kris puts down his homemade tattoo gun and reaches for the damp rag. He presses it into Eduard's forearm and what was almost completely black comes off with a few cold, wet swipes.  
  
It's oddly beautiful, to have his skin marked this way. Already he feels more dangerous. It makes his arm seem larger. And it isn't even that much, all Kris drew was a straight knife and a curved, slender dagger, crossed at the handles, surrounded with wisps of fog, ending at the top with an eight-pointed compass rose, shaded like from a woodcutting, and a geometric border with a hexagonal pattern, going around the side at the widest part of his forearm, an inch below the elbow. A few other elements, smaller and more disconnected. At one point there's two faces, one looking left, one right, joined in the centre at the eye, and their conjoined hair turns into a pair of scorpion pincers. On the reverse, on the inside of his forearm at the top where the geometric border is, the scorpion's tail appears, curled sweetly like a question mark around the hard lines of the border, and from its point dangling down, an unbroken thin line, long and straight, is drawn to his wrist. It ends in a drop, symbolising venom.  
  
It looks ... _really_ creepy. Eduard is stunned.  
  
He notices the fog has words in it, but can't understand them. "Tell me that doesn't say 'bitch for life'," he says dryly.  
  
Kris laughs. "Nah, even I'm not that mean." He looks around to find the cell empty. He replies, "It says 'The tyrant dies - the reign ends. The martyr dies - the reign begins'. Take of that what you will."  
  
"I said nothing religious." At least it's open to interpretation. And Danish.  
  
Kris smacks him in the shoulder, which was probably intended to be light and playful but Kris is much stronger than Eduard, who nearly goes sprawling. "It's not religious, it's Kierkegaard, ya fuckin' Philistine." He stretches backwards, his jumpsuit pulling taut over his broad chest, and cracks just about every bone in his body in so doing. "Anyway. If you want more, I can do it some other time, you're gonna want to give that a chance to heal anyway," he says. "But I'm bored now, and someone promised me somethin' nice."  
  
Willem's likely gone to have a smoke and will be back soon. But it doesn't much matter, Willem knows what he's doing here.  
  
"Sorry, kid," Kris says. "Fair's fair."  
  
Eduard nods. It is. "So get your cock out."  
  
There's an easiness about him now. Maybe it's from spending the past few hours in a semi-relaxed haze, but he feels almost outside himself, not-himself, and it's very easy for him to turn to Kris - who isn't Berwald, or Willem (who he mostly trusts) or Braginski (who he has no choice but to trust) and smile.  
  
So he blows Kris. At some point during this, Willem comes back. Eduard hears him come in, say, "Hmph," and then take a seat. He suspects Willem returns to the book he's reading but he can't hear any sounds of flipping pages, and anyway, he isn't paying all that much attention to Willem.  
  
Kris is not a nice person to blow, as he finds out, because he tugs Eduard's hair this way and that to force himself in deeper. It's a little like being with Braginski, to be honest, but more impersonal.  
  
But he _likes_ the look of his new forearm, when he holds the root of Kris' cock so that it slides more nicely into and out of his mouth. He's magnetised to the sight of it, he can't tear his eyes anywhere else, and everything else seems to sort of fade away. This does not mean he doesn't try with Kris - oh no, he pulls out all the stops that he's learnt over the past few months. Takes it as deep as he can, and by this time, that's pretty deep. Hollows out his cheeks as Kris gets real frantic, sucks hard at the tip, gets his tongue laving up and down the back of his cock, tracing the hot vein on the underside.  
  
Eduard supposes that if he does a very good job, he can get more tattoos. And this, by now, is nothing to him. Kris doesn't even use him as harshly as Braginski does!  
  
Which probably explains why he hardly feels a thing himself, between his legs. It's just a blowjob. This means nothing to him. The only erotic part he sees is how thrillingly new that ink looks on his slightly reddened skin, shiny and taut. It doesn't look like his hand, it doesn't look like him at all. That's not at all something the old Eduard would have done. None of this is anything like what the old Eduard would have done. But old Eduard is dead. _The martyr dies, the reign begins._  
  
He barely tastes Kris when he comes and swallows it obediently. He doesn't pull off too soon. _See?_ he wants to say. _You wanted something nice. I can be nice._  
  
"That's enough for now," says Willem. "You're done, right?"  
  
Eduard sits up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, while looking at his forearm. "We're done," he says.  
  
"Unngh," agrees Kris, collapsed back on his bed.  
  
Willem returns him to their cell, where Berwald is but Braginski isn't. Berwald gives them a split-second glance. Eduard wants to show off the new art but Berwald returns to his book, uninterested. It's probably because of Willem more than anything. He sighs and turns to his bed.  
  
"Nuh-uh," says Willem, "that was a favour I did for you, bringing you to see him."  
  
"I already paid," snaps Eduard. "Didn't you see?"  
  
"You paid him, you didn't pay _me_ for bringing you," Willem shoots back. "Get over here. And lose the orange." Eduard approaches Willem's bunk. Evidently too slowly for Willem's liking, because he reaches out, hooks a finger in the pocket of Eduard's jumpsuit and yanks him forward - orange and all. He lets himself be directed, bending to crawl in after Willem into his bunk.  
  
He consider stripping then - efficiently, because Willem is ordinarily impatient - but it seems that Willem is making a decent effort at taking his time today, despite the fact that he's ridiculously horny, judging from the size of his erection, obvious through his clothing. It must turn him on to watch others, Eduard realises. He remembers Willem playing with himself, watching Berwald fuck him. He remembers the book that Willem brought, which Willem didn't read too quickly once Kris took his payment. "What were you reading?" Eduard asks with a cocky grin. "Good book? _Absorbing?_ "  
  
"Ah, shut up," Willem snarls without any real anger, his teeth in Eduard's neck, his hands pulling the buttons on Eduard's jumpsuit apart so that he can shove his hand in and grab his hip. When he does he pulls Eduard closely to him, his hands roaming over Eduard's back and then his ass. He isn't gentle. He paws at Eduard with the rutting desperation of a graceless teenager. But it doesn't matter because teeth and lips and rough stubble in Eduard's neck have him grinding back and panting.  
  
"Make me," Eduard gasps, as his eyes slip closed.  
  
Willem kisses him then, shoving his tongue inside his mouth. Eduard moans, desperate for air, and as Willem brings his hand up past Eduard's undershirts, hiking them up his chest as he goes along, to thumb his nipple, Eduard moans for _him_ instead, arching into the touch. Willem wrenches the jumpsuit down and his shirts off hastily.  
  
By the time Willem gets to his asshole, Eduard's rock hard and ready for it, and they've hardly even done anything. Willem pauses a moment to fetch his own lube and slicks him up with that. There's no real difference between it and what Eduard uses, but it's a nice touch that doesn't escape Eduard's attention. Willem _likes_ fingering him, and Eduard can't lie about liking it either.  
  
It's interesting, thinks Eduard, that he wasn't anything for Kris but with Willem is panting and desperate in minutes like a trained pet.  
  
"God," Willem whispers, "but you obviously love it, don't you, love cock so fuckin' much." He twists his fingers inside him and Eduard lets his legs fall open wider with a gasp, canting his hips back to fuck himself on Willem's fingers. He doesn't deny it anymore. "Kinda sick how perfect a bitch you are -" Willem continues to hiss filth into his ears - "if I didn't know better, could swear to god you came into this place begging to be turned out."  
  
He strips off the rest of Eduard's clothing, shoving the jumpsuit past his legs, grabbing his ass on the way, as Eduard pulls his undershirts off. Willem balls up the garments and tosses them aside before he removes his own clothing. He shoves the whole bundle - their jumpsuits entwined together - to lay naked on top of Eduard, face to face. His nude chest, Eduard notes, has more than a few tattoos. He whispers more slutty things in Eduard's ears, degrading him a little - but it's different because nobody else is watching. It's not for ears other than his, it's clear. At least Willem gives him that, and he's thankful for it, thankful enough to be a good lay in return.  
  
Willem kisses him again, dirty and hot, as he enters him. Eduard hears a few creaks above them. He opens his eyes to find Berwald's head sticking out of the bunk above, watching them curiously, his eyes squinting at the pair of them. Eduard watches him watching them, over Willem's shoulder, as Willem tongues his mouth open.  
  
He grabs Willem around by the shoulders with his right forearm and Berwald's eyes go wide at the ink. Berwald drops his gaze and disappears into his bunk.  
  
Willem continues to fuck him slow but good, screwing him into the mattress with his hips, but Willem hasn't got much for stamina and within minutes is frantic. And when he's frantic, he gets a little mouthy. Talks about how Eduard loves sucking down cock, watched him do it, watch him love it. "You want one in you now, don't you," he hisses, and then tongues open Eduard's lips, shoving himself in like he's inside Eduard's mouth and ass at the same time. But he can't stop himself from kissing the side of Eduard's neck, laving his tongue all over it, like Eduard was doing to Kris's cock.  
  
Eduard whispers back, "But look at it, he did beautiful work!" It was payment. Fair was fair.  
  
"You fuckin' love cock, don't even care whose," spits Willem angrily.  
  
Eduard suspects he knows Willem decently enough to be able to interpret the second meaning in such an utterance. "Shouldn't worry so much," replies Eduard, and by now he's undulating against Willem, pushing back onto his cock. "I didn't get like this for him." Eduard takes one of Willem's hands and shoves it between his own legs, so that Willem can _feel_ the effect he has on Eduard, the effect he's had on him since the beginning. He didn't get hard for _Kris._ "Or can't you spot a tent in a guy's pants?" he gasps.  
  
"That's right, only for me," Willem growls, and his eyes clench closed but he beams. He pounds harder into Eduard and grips his cock hard, jerking it fast.  
  
Eduard answers him with a set of ragged pants that only just keep from being moans as he comes hard.  
  
"Keep it down, y'fuckin' idiots," mutters Berwald.  
  
And as Willem bends him back down to press their chests together, grabs his hips to tilt them up, so he can better fuck him, that's all Eduard looks at, is his right forearm as his hand grips Willem's shoulder, as Willem lets him fuck his hand. For the first time in awhile, he feels less like a whore, and more like this treatment - being fucked into his cellmate's mattress - is worth it. He got what he wanted. He's paying for it. Fair's fair, isn't it?  
  
Not everybody plays fair. It's gratifying to find those who do.  
  
"You love this, you _love it_ , love how much you love it, _god, fuck_ \- and Willem stiffens and comes. "Fuck," he sighs. " _Fuck_. I needed that." He buries his face deeply into Eduard's neck and kisses it.  
  
Eduard smiles softly to himself, and this time, Willem even gives him an extra ten seconds of afterglow before he kicks him out of his bunk.  


* * *

It takes Braginski longer than Eduard expects to notice the art. The jumpsuit sleeves cut off at the elbow so his forearm is exposed, but perhaps Braginski isn't very observant and when he returns, registers only Eduard as a whole, sitting and practicing his Italian.  
  
But soon thereafter, "How pretty," says Braginski neutrally.  
  
Eduard looks up at him. As stupid as it is... he feels a trickle of delight that Braginski noticed - Braginski calling him _pretty_ \- he can't help smiling.  
  
Braginski's face sours immediately, and quick on his feet he marches over to Eduard's bunk. Eduard scuttles backwards, his heart pounding _danger_ but Braginski climbs right in after him and grabs him by the wrist. He wrenches Eduard forward onto his knees, crawling over his own bed, as he yanks Eduard out by the arm.  
  
He throws Eduard down onto the ground with a mean flourish. Eduard feels a pain in his shoulder - pinched nerve, strained muscle, maybe.  
  
"And where did you get _that?_ " Braginski spits.  
  
Braginski's eyes are wild with anger. Eduard fights a smile.  
  
He tells the truth. No point in lying. "The Danish fellow. Kristensen."  
  
"Evidently," Braginski sneers, "I can recognise his _handiwork_." Braginski points to the Danish text on his forearm, as identifiable as a painter's signature. "You think you can merely hang out with whoever you want? You spend what was that, maybe four, five hours with him? I certainly hope not alone!"  
  
"How dumb do you think I am?" Eduard asks. "Of course I wasn't alone!"  
  
"Oh, really!" says Braginski. He looks to the bunks with Berwald and Willem. "Which one?"  
  
Neither of them say a word.  
  
Braginski continues raging. "Was not a free job, I think! What did you give him for it? Costs a bit more than _cigarettes_ , hmm?"  
  
"Will'm took 'im," Berwald says, and puts down his book to look impassively down upon the strange tableau Braginski and Eduard make in the centre of their cell.  
  
Willem bangs his fist up at the slats supporting Berwald's mattress. "Hey, man, _fuck_ you!" he cries.  
  
"What?" Berwald snaps. "I don't like Kris. Y'shouldn't've taken 'im to _Kris_."  
  
"Snitches get stitches," Willem says warningly.  
  
Berwald narrows his eyes. "I'd like ta see y'try an' bring it," he growls. "I wanna punch that Danish loon in th' face ev'ry time he opens his fool ass _mouth_. Y' couldn'ta brought 'im anywhere else?"  
  
"He wanted the best!" Willem cries, pointing to Eduard on the floor. "I got him the best!"  
  
"He _is not_ th' best," Berwald snaps.  
  
"That is _your_ opinion and also, you're wrong."  
  
"And who told you you could pay with his body?" Braginski returns hotly. "That's not all yours, you know! Not to mention, who says I wanted him marked?"  
  
"Don't they do it for gangs?" says Willem, more a rhetorical question.  
  
"It's just a tattoo!" Eduard says. "You have _dozens_ yourself!"  
  
With a loud _crack_ Braginski backhands him across the face. His glasses fly off and skitter underneath his bed. Then Braginski lifts him a foot off the ground by the collar of his jumpsuit and Eduard scrambles to fix his clothing so he doesn't choke behind it.  
  
" _I own this body,_ " Braginski snarls. "I say what happens to it."  
  
But Eduard, held so closely to Braginski's face, ire-red and puffing so hard he might breathe smoke, watches his eyes. Is magnetised to them, can't look away. They show how very angry Braginski is. This changes something for him, doesn't it? And he doesn't like change, and _that's_ why he's reacting poorly. No, it's clear: Eduard's done something, he's crossed a line.  
  
What line was this? His mind races. What is it he's done to get under Braginski's skin? And how can he do it again?  
  
With someone else? Braginski doesn't mind him hanging out with Lovino...  
  
__"Braginski? ... But he sure don't like others touchin' you ..."_ _  
  
Ah, but Lovino doesn't _touch_ him!  
  
Braginski must think Kris _fucked_ him.  
  
And maybe he doesn't know that Kris works cleanly. Thinks he's given Eduard hepatitis, or some STD. Doesn't like Eduard paying with his body if he hasn't first sanctioned it. How does it feel to have one's toy taken away? Inside, Eduard is gloating and proud.  
  
"I want another," Eduard retorts in his face. "A matching one on the other side. Maybe on my shoulder." He sneers low, intending to wound - "Maybe my _thighs_ , my _ass_ -"  
  
Braginski throws him back down and he lands on his rear, his tailbone meeting the cement hard, and skids backwards into the wall. Braginski advances and raises his hand to strike him. Eduard can't help the full-body flinch. But the blow never falls and slowly Eduard opens his eyes.  
  
"Play nice, like a _good bitch_ who _knows his place_ , and we'll see about giving you permission," Braginski mutters. "But I say where it goes, when it does."  
  
Eduard gives himself a moment to calm down. Then he gets up and tries to climb back into bed.  
  
Braginski sees him do it and clucks his tongue. "I don't think so. You sleep on the floor."  
  
"Don't look 't me," says Berwald.  
  
No way in hell will Willem share his bed.  
  
So on the floor it is.  
  
Still worth it, he thinks. The tattoo is beautiful, and now that he knows how angry it's made Braginski he loves it even more.  
  
Braginski keeps pushing him around. About time he pushed back a little.  
  
And one part of Eduard - a bigger part than he'd like - is delighted that Braginski is finally starting to show some signs of possession, because half the time his lust is about power - his own - and humiliation - Eduard's. Eduard wants him to desire him as much as the other cellmates.  
  
No. _More_ than the other cellmates. Because those two, he's got in the bag, and it's very hard to collect the third when he doesn't seem to want people at all!  
  
He decides it for sure after this: he'll certainly get another tattoo. Poke the polar bear. _Make_ him angry, make him want Eduard, or else what's the point, if Braginski's feelings about him are so tepid he could give him away at any moment?  


* * *

Willem refuses to take him to Kris again, or even entertain the subject.  
  
"Get Berwald to do it," he says, over work.  
  
"Are you afraid of Braginski?" asks Eduard.  
  
"Fuck off," Willem snaps.  
  
"So... you _are_ ," Eduard sneers.  
  
"Shut the fuck up!" he shouts. A few of the other prisoners look over, distracted by the outburst. Willem pipes down and says under his breath, "Look, I'm not taking you and that's final. I got other shit to do tonight, mmkay? The fuck is your problem anyway, goddamn masochist."  
  
But Berwald won't take him, Berwald doesn't like Kris. Braginski doesn't seem to want him marked, so he won't take him. And he can't ask Braginski anyway, that ruins the surprise, the whole reason he's doing this. That means...  
  
Well, he could ask Lovino. And he ought to talk to Lovino anyway.  
  
Lovino is by the FPGA conveyor belt, where he sits down at six in the morning and doesn't move a muscle until lunch, except for his hands, which receive each board and apply a soldering iron to it in careful, practiced routine. He doesn't look away until he has completed the entire integrated circuit in approximately thirty seconds. Then he presses a button and another slides down the belt. Very boring. Right next to the resistors, which Eduard could pretend to need.  
  
He sidles up to the box with the resistors and starts picking through them for the ones he needs, ignoring the colour chart beside it and watching instead Lovino's hands, all spidery short fingers, one hand deftly crawling over the boards, the other pinched around the soldering iron. He has larger knuckles than Eduard would have suspected, knotty and thick, clipped fingernails cut short, wide flat nails. Possibly, his fingers were broken once, maybe long ago. Eduard feels his stomach clench nervously, thinking of Lovino's fingers.  
  
"Morning," he says quietly, to Lovino. Lovino grunts a non-verbal reply. By Lovino standards, it's pretty polite.  
  
"Do you know where that Kris fellow would be later tonight?" he asks.  
  
"Why d'you want him?" says Lovino.  
  
Eduard doesn't reply, choosing instead to extend his right arm towards Lovino. Finally Lovino sets aside the board he's working on and throws a glance his way. "Holy shit," he breathes. " _Christ_. I - I didn't think you'd actually do it. I thought you were joking."  
  
Eduard shrugs. "I feel it should be symmetrical," he says, referring to the naked left arm of pristine, unadorned skin. "Or maybe have this one go further up to the shoulder. Haven't decided yet."  
  
Lovino looks at him, incredulously, and when Eduard quirks an eyebrow he laughs. "Kid, you're really somethin' else," he says, but he sounds amused. "Looks good. Better than I thought it would. What'd he use as a needle?"  
  
"Guitar string," Eduard replies.  
  
Lovino whistles softly. "'S awful nice of him," he says. "Thinner than a paperclip. A paperclip fuckin' hurts. But so's a guitar string. Why you want another?"  
  
"He does a good job," Eduard says, only partially lying. "Kinda like the way it looks." That's true, but he absolutely cannot tell Lovino that he's doing it primarily to get Braginski's goat. That he's permanently marking his body a) to have it look cool enough to give him a dangerous edge and b) to piss off his cellmate.  
  
"'Kay, well. Be covert about it," Lovino advises. "He'll be alone later tonight, prolly. Hangin' out in the cafeteria or something. Wait for -" he lowers his voice - " _il nostro amico russo_ to leave, approach him then."  
  
Eduard finds the two 47 ohm resistors he needs and pretends to continue hunting for a third. "Why doesn't he like Kris?"  
  
Lovino replies in Italian, which no one else in the lab speaks. "I think Kris is a bit of a wildcard for him. He feels unsafe. Because he's built up bonds with the people around Kris, but not Kris himself, in order to pin him. The fact that he doesn't manipulate Kris, but rather his friends, in order to control him, suggests that he perceives Kris as uncontrollable. It's less of an iron grip, though, because Kris could just drop a friend instead of allowing himself to be manipulated by them, so our Russian friend can't exert as much power on Kris, can't feel as safe around him, and he doesn't like feeling unsafe."  
  
Understatement of the year. "Thank you," Eduard replies.  
  
"Got any cigarettes?" Lovino asks. Eduard reaches into his pockets and tosses the box over. Lovino takes it and opens it up. It's not a full pack. "Tell me you didn't take up smoking too," he says dryly.  
  
Eduard rolls his eyes. "Please," he says. Though if it got Braginski mad, he'd seriously consider the habit. "Willem likes a smoke after sex."  
  
Lovino counts the smokes left - only five - and raises his eyebrows, then looks Eduard up and down. "He sure must like you," he replies in a hush, almost admiring. Then he shoulder-checks, and finding the guard momentarily busy, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a floppy disk. Eduard shifts the metal part back to find the film missing, and in its place, a coiled loop of metal. It's a guitar string. "Kris is cheaper if you supply him with the materials," Lovino says. "Need anything else, we'll have to meet outside work."  
  
"Just these," says Eduard, resistors in hand.  


* * *

So he goes back to Kris after dinner, once Braginski has left the cafeteria. Braginski leaves early, which gives Eduard about four hours.  
  
Kris doesn't look up when he approaches. "Whatcha want, kid?" he asks softly.  
  
"Are you free for the evening?" Eduard asks.  
  
Kris grins, busy shading an image of gore: a cave scene with a subterranean pond that seems to have grown arms, pulling a wolf apart by the limbs. "It's not like I'm going some place."  
  
Eduard sits down and tosses him the floppy disk. Kris appears to know what it is already. It makes him look up. "Thought I might like another one," he says. "Bit bigger this time."  
  
"I can do the rest of the arm tonight," Kris offers. He leers like a wolf himself. "Follow me," he says, as he slaps his sketchbook shut.  
  
They negotiate a bit more in Kris' cell, off in another wing, without window access. Braginski would have to try to find them here, and nobody seems to be about. Kris asks him if he has any ideas about a pattern, and Eduard shakes his head, giving him carte blanche as long as nothing is lewd.  
  
As Kris rolls his sleeve up past his shoulder, his fingers cool and smooth on Eduard's skin, Eduard wonders idly, how big a tattoo can he get to piss off Braginski and still pay for it with his body?  
  
"The price is a bit steeper this time," Kris says. "Ain't got Willem here to barter it down for you."  
  
"Obviously not," he agrees.  
  
"I want your ass," Kris says.  
  
"You can have it," Eduard replies, surprised that he doesn't want anything more than that. But he keeps his mouth shut.  
  
Kris gets to work. This time, it hurts. The outside of his upper arm passes like a dream but the inside hurts more than he thought it would, and over the elbow is so painful that to deal with the hurt he goes into that strange place again, where he was when Willem put his fist up Eduard's ass. Eduard floats above, letting the pain wash over him in waves, a tide coming in on him, the beach, sand soft and rough beneath him, a blush of warm seafoam drenching the pricks.  
  
Eduard watches him work, vision blurry, like he's watching through a screen, rays of light through water. Before too long it is over. On his elbow, there is a shower of roots that turn into a steep mountain, and his biceps on his right arm are covered with a madonna skeleton and her child in her arms, a snake swaddled like a baby, the head dangling out of the blankets with its fangs exposed. A two-headed crow, one face smiling and laughing and the other holding a noose, clenched in the beak. Stars above into a nebula, fog up the rest of his shoulder dripping in a circle formed around the electrical symbol for power, like a perverse military epaulette.  
  
"You can just pull the rest of that off," Kris says, referring to his jumpsuit, interrupting his trance at last. So he does, and this leads to him nude from the waist down, covered only on the chest by two undershirts.  
  
Eduard has not bothered bringing lube, but in anticipation of Kris' payment, has stretched and prepared himself beforehand. When Kris pushes him face down to the bed, his ass in the air, and plunges his cock inside without any preamble, it doesn't hurt as much. It still hurts but Eduard relaxes to try and accommodate it.  
  
Kris clearly doesn't bother with his pleasure, but is so quickly lost in his own that he doesn't seem to care whether Eduard is getting any, either. He wraps a hand around himself and jerks off, balanced with his ass up right and Kris inside him. Kris has a handy habit of thrusting deep, at such an angle that he doesn't have to touch him much. The only contact between them that isn't the hot burn of Kris' cock in his ass is the harsh grip on his hips.  
  
This suits Eduard just fine. Like this it's impersonal, easier to fantasise away, so he takes the time to think. He doesn't especially like Kris, and doesn't feel anything for him. Eduard hardly knows Kris, after all.  
  
No, the person he thinks of is Braginski. Braginski, impersonally fucking him hard, in front of people, claiming him in their cell with everybody watching. Braginski, who also has a madonna and child on his arm - a proper one - and a two-headed eagle. On Eduard, those selections look marvellously subversive, and Braginski will be _so mad_ when he realises what Eduard's done. Braginski is not stupid enough to miss a signal like that. Braginski, whose face Eduard really likes when he discovers that someone's touched his property. Eduard fists himself faster.  
  
He wants Braginski to notice. He wants Braginski to be a little bit _his_ as Braginski already believes Eduard belongs to him, and wants Braginski to acknowledge both more than simply because others want Eduard and can't have him. That's why he's doing this at all, because it may be beautiful work that Kris does - Kris, who modestly admits it isn't his best work but has judged it with 'ehh, not bad' - but because of how angry Braginski was. It delights Eduard to see him that enraged, that unsafe. It forces him to finally show some signs of possession.  
  
For Braginski to be an effective bodyguard for Eduard, he has to desire Eduard as much - maybe more - as his other cellmates.  
  
What Lovino said made perfect sense. Braginski, angry because his bitch was with someone else, someone Braginski hadn't completely infiltrated, who wasn't entirely under Braginski's rule alone. But it's more than just not letting the underclass talk to each other lest it rise up against you! If it were Berwald who took him, Eduard reasons, Berwald wouldn't've let him alone with Kris. Berwald, after all, hardly likes Kris, let alone trusts him with the bitch alone. Braginski knows this.  
  
But Willem - ah! Braginski _knows_ that Willem would've taken a smoke break. He knows that in that smoke break, Kris would've said something. Done something. Throw the bitch a bone. And didn't he? _The tyrant dies, the reign ends. The martyr dies, the reign begins._ Yes, it's all so perfectly clear. And is Braginski worried that Kris will try and take his bitch? No, nobody will try and do that. No, he's more worried that the bitch will run away if not properly leashed. Lovino spoke truly: Kris represents a loss of control, but it's more control to Eduard, and less control to Braginski. Braginski would be able to deal with control slipping out of his fingers, but not if it goes to the bitch.  
  
Braginski doesn't really touch him unless it's to humiliate him, to prove a point. Sometimes in public. But he never seems to take Eduard because he _wants_ Eduard, and that grates a little at him. Why should the other two cellmates be so addicted to his ass that they give him everything he wants, but Braginski is still distant and unrufflable? No, Braginski needs to need him as much as they do, which means he needs to become something Braginski needs. Something Braginski craves. He wants control. Eduard needs to be able to give him control.  
  
In his fantasy, people watch them, but Braginski isn't saying any of his usual stuff, he's just enjoying Eduard, enjoying the ride, his eyes closed as he shoves himself in, taking the pleasure that belongs to him. It feels so good, to be wanted by him! He imagines Braginski's eyes, flutter closed as he sighs, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he pushes in and out of Eduard, stretching him wide around his cock, and it makes him throb hard in his palm.  
  
(His brain has constructed a very peculiar Braginski-centric filter, he notes. Willem and Berwald he understands; Braginski is a mystery yet and it gnaws at him. Like most things in here, the gnawing has mutated to desire - in no universe is Braginski really attractive. A-and he's not even gay! But he wants Braginski with every fibre of his being! And it's not fair that Braginski gets to be so aloof when Eduard himself is so thoroughly smitten.)  
  
Braginski starts thrusting faster, more irregularly, and Eduard's heart beats faster, he pants harder, picks up the pace with his wrist, excited for Braginski to be so overwhelmed by him that he can't hold on anymore, has to let go, has to come - fuck him hard - and he's entirely forgotten the people who are watching them, he can only think of Eduard, pulls him up to his chest to clutch him close, Braginski's teeth in the back of his neck like dominance, desperate and shaking with the effort of release as he comes -  
  
With a low groan, Eduard finishes himself off, his dick spasming in his hand as he thinks about it, Braginski pressing in hard and deep and fast because he wants Eduard so much that he has to violently slake his hunger for him on a regular basis. More than just a game! More than just fun! Braginski must be as addicted to him as the other two, Eduard's safety depends on it and if he's honest with himself, he needs it, he wants it, because the thought has him throbbing again, his dick already half-interested in a second round.  
  
A groan behind him reminds him it isn't Braginski but rather Kris, whose hips snap forward and stutter as he comes inside Eduard. Kris rests a moment there, balls deep in Eduard's ass, before pulling out. "Weren't kidding when they said you were a freak," he pants, "can't believe you fuckin' _like_ that shit."  
  
"Makes it tighter," Eduard argues, "and I didn't hear any complaints from you."  
  
Kris scowls. "Too mouthy for me," he says. "Best yer not mine."  
  
Sour grapes, Eduard thinks to himself as he redresses. He says nothing.  
  
"But hey, you ever need more ink, you know who to ask!" He slaps Eduard's ass on the way out. It forces him to clench hard to keep the come in his ass until he can get back to his cell.  
  
It's an awkward walk of shame back to his wing before they're locked in for the night, as people whisper loudly enough for him to hear - _bitch walkin' funny, needs a new stick in his ass_ \- there, he is finally able to clean himself out. He has to remove his jumpsuit entirely to clean himself off, and so for a minute and a half he is again nearly naked, his arm exposed, the new ink shiny in the dim fluorescent light.  
  
Berwald - so far the only occupant of their cell - looks up at him, quirks an eyebrow, and returns to his book.  


* * *

Lockdown is two days hence. Surprisingly, a full three hours pass without event as Eduard listens to his Italian tapes before Willem gets up and walks over to his bed.  
  
"Can I help you with something?" Eduard asks.  
  
"Get your ass undressed," says Willem, as he undoes the front of his jumpsuit.  
  
This is what Eduard has been expecting. Lockdown means an extended period of time behind bars, no freedom, no nothing, just stay in your cells and sit on your bed. If you're lucky one of your cellmates has a pack of cards to pass the time. In this cell, they don't have cards, but something a little different.  
  
He almost doesn't mind, because he's been half hard for a while now, having expected this since lockdown began. After all, it happens every lockdown. And Willem's good in bed - he's _very_ good.  
  
Eduard begins to strip out of his clothes, and his right arm is still stuck in the jumpsuit when Willem snaps in a low voice, "C'mon! Get the fuck going!" Evidently impatient. Why had he waited so long this time?  
  
So he stops stripping and begins stretching himself. A quick job, he doesn't stretch as much as he could have. He uses more lube to compensate. "Grease up good, kid," sneers one of the other inmates, watching him shove his fingers in his own ass.  
  
Willem bangs on the bars of the cell. "Shut the fuck up!" he hisses.  
  
"Mind y'don't wake up th' big guy," Berwald mutters sleepily.  
  
Ah. So that's why. He waited until the other two fell asleep. If he had wanted to take his time, he would have dragged Eduard to his own bunk instead of coming over to Eduard's. Willem doesn't look like he really wants to take his time today. Braginski especially tends to be a light sleeper.  
  
But every now and then Willem forgets that he's trying to be stealthy and lashes out. He stands, looking impatient, watching Eduard finger himself, near the edge of the bed closest to the bars.  
  
Eduard supposes it's on him to present himself. He backs up and leans down on the bed, his legs spread and his ass lifted in the air so that Willem can step in between his thighs, line up and start already.  
  
"Nice tight hole," someone snaps from one of the other cells. Eduard sighs.  
  
"Bitch knows what he likes," someone else says, "g'wan an' give it to 'im hard an' fast, make 'im _squeal_."  
  
"I swear to god you guys need to shut the actual fuck up," Willem mutters.  
  
This is one of the more embarrassing things he's had to endure. Humiliating, being shown off like this, on display and spread open. The only advantage to this position is that he can't see the looks on the faces of the other inmates.  
  
Yeah, nice tight hole, alright. Nice tight hole that _none_ of those assholes _ever_ gets to have, because Willem might be a jerk but he at least does what he says he will, for the right price, and the right price is _this_.  
  
The intrusion of Willem's hard dick inside him is fast and rough. Eduard grunts in pain. "Yeah, _fuck_ ," Willem whispers. Like it melts the stress right off him at the first thrust.  
  
Willem sets a fast pace, quick and dirty, uncaring about pleasure - either of theirs. This isn't enjoyment, this is slaking lust as a way to bask in and drift off to a rosy afterglow, so that maybe both of them can sleep away their lockdown instead of having their wits slowly pulled out by time.  
  
But really, that's not a bad idea. Eduard gets his left hand down between his legs to touch himself, holding his body propped up with his right arm, tangled in jumpsuit.  
  
He's not surprised he's half hard. His body is attuned by now to this routine and he gets a strong spike of adrenaline, of anticipation, whenever lockdown begins, because this _always_ happens, Willem is _always_ so very good in his ass and never seems to mind Eduard getting off beneath him. Willem, Eduard knows by now, likes it tight, tight enough to take his dick off (he's probably had so much sex the organ is rubbed clear of the more sensitive nerves anyway), and if Eduard comes first, it'll make it better for Willem. Willem will come in his ass and then not bother him for the rest of lockdown.  
  
And that's ultimately what he wants. If he happens to get off too, well. You take what you can get, isn't it so?  
  
He shifts back to meet Willem's thrusts, his cock in his hand needy and leaking, and moans when Willem finally stops teasing him and gets it in deep over his prostate. "Yeah that's it," Willem says, and slaps him on the cheek hard enough to sting. "Fuckin' love this, dontcha."  
  
He does. He _really_ does. Eduard bites his lip and strives not to make another sound. Make Willem a little more desperate for it. Don't let him win so easily. But he cants his hips back to meet his thrusts, doesn't he?  
  
"Fuckin' love my _cock_ ," Willem snaps. His hips slam home and Eduard gasps loud, getting closer. "Fuckin' love this shit, you could have it all goddamn night long, couldn't you?"  
  
In some of his wilder fantasies, perhaps. He shifts his hips backwards again, and matches Willem behind him with his hand on his cock. More, _yes_ , just a little more, he's so close already -  
  
"Love it, you love this shit -" _I do, god help me, but I do_ , he thinks between thrusts that have his mind spinning and dizzy - "I'm always the one who makes you come, little bitch - ngh -"  
  
They're both so _close_ -  
  
"'Scuse me, but I don't think so," says Berwald.  
  
The moment is broken.  
  
"What," Willem snaps. "Look man, I'm sick of you hornin' in on my territory, okay? It's twice now -"  
  
"Y'know what else's twice too many? Him an' his little skin designs," Berwald retorts.  
  
"Ahh, yes," Braginski says. "You speak the truth, my friend."  
  
Not asleep at all, it appears.  
  
Secretly, Eduard is gloating. He _did_ notice!  
  
"You already said I'd sleep on the ground for it," Eduard argues, "and I did."  
  
"But then you went and got more," reminds Braginski.  
  
What can they possibly do to him, make him sleep again on the floor?  
  
Obviously that didn't work!  
  
No, Braginski will have to teach him a proper lesson! Maybe Braginski will finally take him for _him_ , and ignore the other inmates.  
  
"Look. We been through this," says Willem. "Does it make him less useful to you? It's his stupid skin."  
  
"But it is not his skin. It is no longer his body. That belongs to me," Braginski states.  
  
Echoes Berwald, "An' me."  
  
"Well, and me too then! And I'm the one who took him to see Kris, so -"  
  
"Both times?" asks Berwald.  
  
It dawns on Willem and he says, realising what's going on, "You went back alone." He looks more carefully at Eduard, then peels off the top of the jumpsuit from his right arm. He's clearly shocked; he twitches hard inside Eduard's ass. "Holy shit. When the fuck d'you do this, yesterday?"  
  
"It didn't cost me much," says Eduard.  
  
"We'll be th' judge'f that," says Berwald flatly.  
  
"How did you pay?" Braginski wants to know. "With your mouth? With your ass?"  
  
Eduard flushes red.  
  
Willem can't see it from this angle but the silence is telling. He pulls out entirely from Eduard's ass.  
  
"Ahhh, I see!" Braginski crows.  
  
"Well, you don't care if other people have him up the ass," mutters Willem.  
  
"But I do care," says Braginski. Eduard practically laughs with joy. He tries not to smile when really he's so happy he feels like he's sparkling. "Only you two are permitted, and even then I'd really rather you didn't because I saw him first and wasn't I the one who brought him here? I think I was!"  
  
He holds his breath, his heart pounding in his throat. This is the closest he's ever come to Braginski admitting affection!  
  
Willem's had enough. "Berwald, man, this is bullshit," he snaps.  
  
"No. Fer once, I agree with th' crazy fucker," Berwald replies.  
  
"Oh, come the fuck _on!_ "  
  
"We're jus' gonna take Kris' word that he's clean? I'd beat him up 'fore I trusted 'im. How th' fuck do y'know?"  
  
"'Cause I was the one what took him to the docs last time he needed it! He got tests done, he's clean. I saw the paperwork. He ain't done stupid shit with needles since an' he used a good new one on _him_."  
  
"All the same," Braginski says, "what a bad habit to get into -"  
  
"An' I don't like y'actin' like he's yers t' give away."  
  
"- acting as though he is your currency to pay with -"  
  
Willem snorts. "You wouldn't, ya fuckin' fruits -"  
  
"'S enough'f that," says Berwald.  
  
But Braginski's the one who gets up and stalks over to where they are. Eduard peeks back - Willem looks angry but Braginski is easily twice as, hopping mad. So that's all that's required to get under his skin? Imply that he's gay? Eduard supposes that's an easy way to get under anybody's skin in here. He shifts on the mattress, ready to dart away and out of the action, when Braginski snaps, "No, you do not move, you stay right there."  
  
"What," says Willem, "you wanna fuckin' go about this? Try me, jackass."  
  
"And you," Braginski says to Berwald, who's climbing down the ladder of his bunk, "perhaps you can make him stay where he is?" He snaps and points to Eduard. "We are not finished with him."  
  
Eduard's heart leaps. What will he do? To Willem, Eduard doesn't much care, but what will Braginski do to _him?_  
  
He'll punish me, Eduard thinks with glee, he'll punish me and then he'll realise that he has to start paying more attention to me himself. Showing more attention. No more of this nonsense, whoring him out in the showers for men to aim their ejaculate at his chest, staking a claim he doesn't even bother in using unless _others_ are _watching!_ No, he'll show he wants Eduard because he legitimately does, because how else can Eduard guarantee that Braginski will protect him?  
  
"P'rhaps y'can ask me nicely," Berwald sneers. "Don't take orders from you."  
  
" _Kindly_ make him stay there, yes? Pretty please, with cherries on top?" Braginski steps back three paces when Willem pushes him roughly at the shoulders out of his personal space. "While I am busy taking care of _this_ idiot."  
  
And the brawl begins between Willem and Braginski. It's not as physically active as it could be - they don't have much room in here to dance around each other - and it ends quickly. Willem gets in a good solid punch before Braginski trips him at the ankle, scoops him up and over his shoulder and then slams his back against the concrete. Winded, Willem coughs for breath on the floor and Braginski, as a curious child plucking the legs of an insect, places a foot on his chest and begins to press down.  
  
This is when Berwald approaches from behind. Eduard is still mostly face-down on the bed, his bare ass high up in the air. He hears Berwald undoing the front of his jumpsuit.  
  
Typical. Seems he's piqued Berwald's interest. It doesn't take much.  
  
Well, Berwald's as good as Willem. Maybe even better. Berwald's softer, gentler - he returns his hand to between his legs -  
  
Eduard hears a weak groan from Willem on the floor.  
  
Berwald _slams_ into him, hard and rough. He sets a fast pace, and Eduard barely has the ability to match it because he's too busy trying to catch his breath. This _hurts_. Berwald doesn't usually hurt him! He isn't being nearly as nice as he usually is. He must be particularly angry. Doesn't like Kris? Or doesn't like other people touching his things? It could be either, but Eduard suspects the former - Berwald has referred to him not quite fondly as 'that Danish idiot'.  
  
"Ah ah ah," warns Braginski, who returns to the two of them on the bed.  
  
He leans in and grabs Eduard's arms, slamming him face-first into the mattress. Then he wrenches Eduard's arms behind him at an awkward angle and tangles them in the jumpsuit and a bit of the sheet, pinned beneath Eduard. He ties these in a tight knot around his wrists to keep them both behind his back. "Ow!" Eduard shouts, "What are -"  
  
"Bitches have to learn how to howl properly," Braginski says with a smile.  
  
His cheek is pressed to the side of the bed and he can't hardly move. His shoulders are on fire and that knot is too tight - his fingers quickly begin tingling, the first sign of going numb. It's hard for him to get any sort of pleasure out of this! But every so often Berwald - still angry, still _not_ focussing any pleasure Eduard's way - shoves in very deep, and slowly enough that the head of his cock just grazes him inside, gently enough that it makes a spark shoot up into flames in his blood.  
  
Eduard arches back for more, trying desperately with his legs to correct the angle, but Berwald doesn't let him move and keeps his hands on Eduard's hips. He keeps thrusting for awhile, a long while, with Eduard below him wriggling in vain, until his motions get jerky, quick, then slams in once more, balls deep and brushing against his own, and groans low.  
  
Berwald pulls out of Eduard's body, leaving a sticky, damp trail between his cheeks. He walks away.  
  
Eduard can't tell if he feels more betrayed or disgusted but nothing's as humiliating as how on show Eduard now is for the rest of the jail cells. With nobody blocking him, they can see everything from this angle. They see his wet, slick asshole in full view with his thighs spread, the rest of him pressed to the mattress.  
  
"Yer lucky, kiddo," one of the inmates says, "don't he last a lot longer normally?"  
  
It's true, that was only ten minutes. Eduard should be grateful. And maybe he can get up now? And put some clothes on and perhaps cover himself up with a sheet, that would be delightful - he's not even that hard anymore and that will go away if he ignores it long enough -  
  
"Oh, you have finished," says Braginski. "Good! My turn."  
  
He pauses. That's - two of them already, and the third ... this will make him very sore.  
  
But on the other hand, Braginski. Braginski, which is who he wanted. And he isn't doing this for show. He's doing it to punish Eduard, which is less how he wanted, but also exactly how he wanted, in another strange way.  
  
Braginski sinks slowly into him, deep, and sets a similar pace - slow and deep, longing thrusts. Easy to match. It makes Eduard moan, though this he holds back so as not to give Braginski the satisfaction. It's possible Braginski won't be quite so rough as Berwald was.  
  
In fact ...  
  
He has his hands on Eduard's hips, lifting them up and level with his cock, which supports his legs keeping his ass in the air. Warm and soft - he could have been like Berwald and gripped him hard with clenched fingers, but Braginski touches him so tenderly. He shivers with pleasure at the calm but possessive way Braginski strokes his skin.  
  
It would be difficult (though not impossible) for him to put a hand under to wrap around Eduard's cock. Yes, the thought of it, Braginski's touch on him _there!_ Though he isn't doing this, he's at least going very slowly. So slowly in fact that -  
  
"Aah -" a moan escapes him. Braginski's cock has driven in deep and nudges against his prostate and for a moment everything is sweet hot bliss. "Please," Eduard whispers. "That's - more, please!"  
  
"You like?" Braginski says sweetly. He runs his fingers over Eduard's ass, up along the crack. He takes one of Eduard's pinned hands in his own and rubs his fingers. It's downright sensual. And his hands are so stiff! Eduard strains to push back into him, anything, anything Braginski wants, his mind is fuzzy for it, but his legs are getting awfully tired of maintaining this position and subtle motion has become difficult. "Of course you like. You like so much you need it from people who aren't us, you need it all the time."  
  
Eduard's heart sinks.  
  
"I think this is your excuse," Braginski continues, "you only pretend to care about ink, when what you care about is cock, as much as you can get."  
  
"That's not true," Eduard says. And it isn't. He did it - the tattoo, Kris, everything - to get a rise out of Braginski, not because he's a greedy cock-slut. "You three are more than enough."  
  
"Mm-hmm," Braginski says, and chuckles low in his throat.  
  
"Believe me, I don't care about the tattooist," Eduard insists. "I only - mmph! - did that because - _oh_ \- well you're not the only one! - who can use people based on their weaknesses."  
  
"O-ho! is that the way you play! My little pawn advances with his sights on the other side. You are so _cute_ , Edik," Braginski says softly.  
  
Eduard fully expects Braginski to start pounding into him at any moment but that's not what he does. He continues going slow, agonising slow, and nothing Eduard does will make Braginski move faster. Like it or not, Eduard prepares himself for the way Braginski's cock feels inside him, seated balls deep, the gentle brush of his skin against Eduard's ass.  
  
It feels _brilliant_. He's so torn! His body feels like he's burning up, he's regained all the hardness he lost with Berwald, his dick heavy and swinging between his thighs, and half of him can't stop thinking about that, craving a touch on his cock. And the more Braginski fucks him, the more it makes him flush, as he arches back, trying in vain to meet Braginski's thrusts even with the limited mobility and the pain in his body, even though his glasses are digging into his nose, his face is pressed hard into the mattress, his arms hurt, and his hands are numb past the wrist.  
  
None of that matters. It fades away with every stroke of Braginski's cock in his ass until all he feels is the endless, drawn-out suspension of pleasure when Braginski pushes himself in.  
  
Until it sweeps past the realm of comfort and into pain. The stimulation nearly hurts, what he wouldn't _do_ for a hand to thrust against. Or if he could just be permitted to flop down on the mattress and thrust against it until he comes! He's never needed to come so badly in his life. He spreads his thighs a bit more, trying to push back, trying to make Braginski fuck him where he needs it.  
  
But he doesn't, and Eduard can't come, he's not allowed, not until Braginski decides. Because Braginski knows what he's doing! So he lingers there for minutes while Braginski continues to thrust, sometimes shallowly, sometimes deeply, always blissfully. He can feel the air, cool against the heat of his hard prick, imagines someone's hand as he strains to fuck _nothing_ and -  
  
He moans aloud, long, as unbelievably he comes without having been touched, spilling onto the mattress, and he can no longer handle how stiffly his body has been placed, he tries to thrust, and fails, as Braginski continues to fuck him through orgasm.  
  
And then continues to fuck him.  
  
He can't move, his body pinned where it is, to scoot away from or into Braginski's body so he remains there, helpless, his body jerking as Braginski continues to shove his cock in and out of him.  
  
Now, it really hurts. Now, it feels like a punishment. He should have held on longer! Should've known Braginski wouldn't make this _easy_.  
  
At least he's tighter after he's come, maybe Braginski will come soon too, and then they'll leave him alone.  
  
The second he thinks it, he hears Braginski's breaths behind him speeding up, panting and gasping as he moves faster - this is like that time Willem put his hand up his ass. Eduard can't get away from it, he can only lie there and take it as Braginski's cock makes uncomfortable, painful contact with his prostate. Done gently this feels nice, but slamming against it, and he's already supersensitive, and he can't move - Eduard winces and clenches his eyes against the pain. He's certain his hands are fists behind his back, white-knuckled and tight-balled, if he could feel them anymore.  
  
He tries to flex the muscles around his ass as much as possible, to make it as tight as possible so that Braginski will just come already. Please, he thinks, let this end -  
  
Finally, Braginski moans and his hips slow and stop. And he pulls out of Eduard's body.  
  
_Oh thank god_ , thinks Eduard, who has never been a religious man.  
  
"He's all yours now," Braginski says, and slaps Eduard so hard on the ass it stings.  
  
What?  
  
Oh god _no_...  
  
"Aw, you two jerks already broke him in," Willem sulks.  
  
"He's still good. You're the one who said it, aren't you? That you're always the one who makes him come? If that's so, I'm sure he'll be nice and tight again for you in no time!" Braginski snaps, sounding too cheery. "Good luck."  
  
"An' dontcha wanna say yer sorry fer using our bitch as payment?" Berwald asks. "'S why y'wait yer turn."  
  
"Please, don't," croaks Eduard.  
  
Willem glowers at Braginski, but saunters over to Eduard's bed and undoes his jumpsuit anew. "I'm sorry for nothing," he says. "He went and did it on his own. Or isn't that why we're punishing him?"  
  
Eduard tries to brace himself. He really does, but there's no way to brace yourself for something like this - another intrusion so soon after the other two (three, if he counts Willem earlier, although that was sort of okay because at least he was able to stretch himself). Willem sinks into him, like the relief of a hot bath, but nothing is too slow for how sore he is. No matter how gentle Willem could be, it's a dull prodding ache that sends a jolt of electricity up his spine as he's fucked yet again.  
  
And Willem isn't gentle.  
  
Because _that's right!_ \- had he forgotten? It was only an hour ago! - Willem didn't get to come last time. So now he's angry, ornery as a red-vision bull, his hips pistoning him in forcefully against Eduard's body, shoving him so hard he has to keep both hands gripped to Eduard's body to force him back up and onto his cock, so he doesn't get smeared harder onto the mattress. If only that were the case, thinks Eduard, if only he could just lay there and they could do what they wanted to him. Maybe he could drift off and be spared the pain - but no, like this, his body is too awkwardly contorted, and the way Willem is fucking him is too hard and merciless to manage sleep. He's cringing and shaking too hard for sleep, every thrust is a stab.  
  
No, Willem's angry, not just because he didn't get to come before, but because Braginski's playing a little power game with him. And he's taking it out on Eduard. Of course! Who else? It doesn't matter how much usually he doesn't like to inflict pain - how usually he doesn't mind it if Eduard comes - sometimes he even makes it so that Eduard has fun too - but this is not like that. He's furious, and shit rolls downhill, so he takes it out on the person at the bottom of the hierarchy.  
  
Eduard tries squeezing his muscles tighter. Willem can't thrust in as hard, and maybe he'll come faster, and this will soon be over.  
  
Soon! It'll all be over soon, he tells himself, just Willem, then they've all come and they can't possibly do anything worse, and he can bury his head under the sheet and sleep away the rest of lockdown in a protective coma.  
  
"Agh," Willem grunts, "fucking, tight - jesus christ you stupid bitch - ungh -" he trails off and comes.  
  
Eduard waits for someone to come untie him.  
  
"What do you think?" asks Braginski. "Another round?"  
  
"Could do," mutters Berwald. "Y'wanna go first?"  
  
Braginski snorts. "How young you think I look? You go." Berwald descends down the ladder from his bunk, his hand on the jumpsuit seam as he crosses their small cell to Eduard, lying prone and exposed on his bed.  
  
Oh for god's sake, Eduard realises. They're going to take turns fucking him until - until when? Until lockdown ends?  
  
(How much come it will take before he gets seriously ill?)  
  
The men outside have stopped leering. It's not as much fun watching the three of them do it again as it is the first time, and they can't see anything from this angle anyway. Whoever's fucking him blocks all the action.  
  
And, unless Eduard is mistaken, at least one of them pities him. His low groan of pain when Berwald enters him is answered by someone tutting and other murmurs that he can't quite make out.  
  
And so it starts again.  
  
Berwald is slower this time, and since he's already come once Eduard expects it will take him much, much longer to achieve orgasm, although Eduard tries his best to tighten as hard as he can around Berwald's cock. He wants this over with as soon as possible (but for what? so that someone else can take Berwald's place?). This time around, Berwald is nicer - his previous anger melted and tempered into something that's not quite as passionate as he usually is but at least a little more tender. Berwald slips in and out of him in a smooth, hot slide, and avoids his prostate for awhile, enjoying going through the motions, until all that hurts is his thighs and his asshole and his arms and - well everything is still sore, but he isn't hypersensitive any longer.  
  
Then he shoves his hips in and thrusts up, and Eduard moans. How can this feel good? But it does, it's a brief reprieve from the soreness he feels in his ass, the fire in his thighs from their strained angle, the ache on his nose from where his glasses stick in, and the tenseness in his shoulders. For a brief moment Berwald's cock makes it like he can breathe again and Eduard gasps air greedily.  
  
"Not th' only one who can make 'im come, eh, Will'm?" grunts Berwald. He plunges himself in and does it again. Eduard finds himself scooting backwards to better angle Berwald's motion. Anything to take away the pain, he feels desperate!  
  
Desperate for _cock_ , because _cock_ takes the pain away, because he's a disgusting little _whore_ -  
  
\- the other side of him is too busy enjoying it, likes the treatment. Maybe just a little! Being passed off between his three cellmates like a literal toy. Being fucked into oblivion over and over again! Being held down and forced to take it while they _line up_ and _take turns_ with his ass -  
  
"Oh god," Eduard moans again, and his cock twitches between his thighs, interested again in a second round with _the air_ and no touch.  
  
How many times? How many times will they make him come before he's adequately punished? He feels the sweat cold on the nape of his neck.  
  
"You see?" calls over Braginski, from what sounds like his bed. There's a few squeaks and then Braginski's face appears over the side of the bedframe, upside down. "He likes this. Not just _Willem's_ cock."  
  
"It's not a goddamn competition," Willem snaps.  
  
Eduard disagrees. Braginski has made it crystal clear that it is precisely that.  
  
"Hm," Berwald says, neither agreeing or disagreeing. "Heard rumours y'liked yer time with that filthy Dane, though."  
  
"That was nothing," Eduard hisses, grunting between Berwald's slow thrusts hitting home, "I - ungh - I had to - did what I had to - mmph - to get what I wanted -"  
  
"An' what's that?"  
  
"It was a trade!"  
  
Berwald puts his knee on the bed, next to Eduard's, and leans into his space. "Fer this?" he asks. He strokes Eduard's shoulder and upper arm, still sensitive from Kris' tattoo work.  
  
"I swear - mmph, fuck - it won't happen again -"  
  
"Yer damn right it won't," Berwald grunts. "Looks nice - looks _real_ nice - but was it worth it?"  
  
_Was it?_ He starts to wonder.  
  
This is a difficult angle to get anything - now he can't move back because Berwald's body is so closely pressed against him, but not firmly enough that he is pressed into the mattress, either. He can only sit there, in the air, and be fucked, and from such an angle Berwald no longer hits as deeply and misses his most sensitive spots.  
  
That's bad - it'll take him longer to come - but also good - he's grown to love the sick feeling of Berwald's hard cock in his ass, splitting him in two, so much that just having him inside arouses him with the tantalising promise of more - but also bad - orgasm is going to hurt this time, is going to feel like his body is being wrung out via his dick.  
  
"Please, Berwald, please, just let me -" His plaintive begging is cut off by a loud moan, for now he is fully hard and Berwald doesn't stop his movements - deeply in, all the way out, all the way in again, so slow that he can feel every inch of Berwald's cock, and sees it coming when the head of it grazes past the knot of supersensitive, overstimulated nerves inside him. He feels raw, raked raw inside and out, his entire lower half hurts so much - and it's not enough, he'd give anything to be touched, anything to come! Eduard just wants this to end already. Let everything end!  
  
"Good," croons Braginski, "so he _does_ remember asking us for permission to do things."  
  
"Be patient," Berwald murmurs.  
  
"You'll come when we tell you to!" Braginski, from the sounds of it, is enjoying this, although his cheeks are ruddy. He's enjoying this _quite_ a bit, which surprises Eduard. He'd thought only Willem liked to watch. Braginski doesn't seem to ever get off on watching unless he can shoot his mouth off, humiliating Eduard with his words in front of the other inmates outside their bars.  
  
But the other inmates have stopped saying anything at all and are largely ignoring what is happening inside this cell. And Braginski doesn't seem to be focussing on the audience like he usually does. Isn't that what he wanted? Isn't that exactly what he wanted? _Was it worth it?_ Eduard shivers.  
  
Berwald shifts up, grinding his hips into Eduard's ass, and finally - _finally_ from this angle, he manages to touch him inside where Eduard wants it most. Through the blind haze of gasping - Berwald feels so mind-meltingly good in him he almost forgets how raw and abused he feels inside, and he tries to hang onto the euphoria as long as possible - he hears Berwald murmur softly, "Y'know we _had_ to do this, dontcha?"  
  
"Don't - have - to -" Eduard grunts out between receiving thrusts.  
  
"But we did. _You_ acted out, y'did somethin' ya shouldn't've, an' now y'gotta pay th' price." Berwald's voice is even, gentle, admonishing. He would make a fantastic teacher, or father, perhaps, thinks Eduard.  
  
The realisation prods him closer to orgasm. Berwald, the angry schoolteacher - harsh discipline, but ultimately fair - it's what he deserves -  
  
No, Eduard doesn't need more sick, filthy, twisted ideas!  
  
"If I'd known - that it'd be this - wouldn't've -"  
  
"Y'won't anymore, will ya? Hmm?" He strokes Eduard's shoulder gently.  
  
"God, no! I'll - aah! - I'll never - _please_ -"  
  
"Good. See that y'don't. Be a good boy fer us."  
  
He bumps up again, and Eduard is rendered deaf momentarily as he comes, his orgasm upon him lightning fast and hard, shooting through him like electrocution. For a brief, split second his mind is fried and he feels nothing, he _is_ nothing, he just exists and nothing else does - and then the lassitude falls upon him and the ache and soreness return. This time, full force, because he has nothing to protect him from the way Berwald thrusts in him, jerking his body to finish himself off inside Eduard where he is already too sensitive to handle any more.  
  
Finally, Berwald groans and stills, his body pressing into Eduard's. He removes himself and Eduard closes his eyes with a sigh. Let that be the last one. Please, let that be the last one.  
  
"Ah! My turn again!" Braginski chirps, and vaults himself off the top bunk, landing on the floor with a loud thump.  
  
"No!" Eduard says, "please no!" He tries to move forward on the bed, crawling away from the edge with his knees.  
  
"Not so fast," replies Braginski. He reaches into Eduard's bunk, grabs him by the thighs, and yanks him back to the edge of the mattress. It stings his cheek and knees with cloth burn. But that's nothing compared to the soreness he feels, the rawness of his ass, when Braginski guides his cock into him for the second time.  
  
"I think I will take my time," Braginski tells him. "There are three of us, you have come only twice. I think I can make you come a third time."  
  
"No!" Eduard pleads, "Don't, oh god, please, just - make it quick!"  
  
"Woulda been four if you'd let me finish him earlier," Willem grumbles.  
  
"So make it four when y'get 'im once _he's_ done."  
  
"Oh, good point."  
  
Braginski leans down and whispers in his ear. "There is no mercy for bitches," he says with what sounds like the smuggest smile Eduard's ever envisioned, and kisses his cheek sweetly.  
  
And it begins again.  


* * *

  
  
By the time they are finished he's lost count of how many times it's been. How many times that they've come, how many times he's come.  
  
Every time Braginski enters him he knows it'll eventually result in his climax - it always does, Braginski never touches him, but screws it out of him slowly and desperately until he's driven mad beyond arousal - but he's lost count of how many times Braginski has fucked him. Everything is just a horrid, massive blur, as he waits for the pain to stop.  
  
Finally, it does. Braginski says something about being bored, 'the bitch has had all the fun fucked out of him' he mutters, and unties his hands.  
  
Eduard simply stays there, in the same position, unable to move. Some time passes before he musters the strength to tip his body to the side and flop there, his legs finally closed and curled up to his chest in fetal position. He rests there another fifteen, twenty minutes - perhaps longer, his brain feels so fried that time means nothing anymore - and only then does he get under his sheet. It's been so long that the come on it has dried; his last two orgasms, there was nothing left to spill, and he simply jerked there, helpless, suspended, skewered on his cellmate's cock as he shook.  
  
And when it all stops, nobody says anything. Not his cellmates - Berwald and Willem are asleep, and Braginski goes back to reading - and not the other inmates either. He catches the eyes of one of them when he twists to get himself under the covers, since Eduard doesn't have the strength to redress and his hands don't work properly for the topology of the jumpsuit anyway.  
  
The man looks sorry for him.  
  
Eduard stares him down until he drops his gaze first.  
  
Braginski has orchestrated this, of course. He had this planned. He knew the moment Eduard stepped into Kris' cell what would happen, with or without Willem present, and he allowed it to happen at the time, so that he could do this later. He antagonised Berwald and Willem until they played along. The tattoos don't actually matter, of course, since Braginski and Willem both have plenty between them, where the jumpsuits typically cover.  
  
It's all part of his game.  
  
He thinks it's funny.  
  
Funny.  
  
Eduard smiles mirthlessly to himself.  
  
Funny? No. Not funny. Not exactly.  
  
A game, but not a fun one. A mildly entertaining diversion.  
  
Diversion...  
  
Maybe this is how he'll get Braginski to want him, to be possessed by him. Without a diversion, what has Braginski got to do with himself?  
  
Not much. But he could prey on the other inmates, on the guards. Everybody's a pawn to him.  
  
Then...  
  
Eduard has to become his _sole_ diversion. The most important one. He has to outthink him so hard that Braginski's entire brain is occupied with trying to out-pace Eduard. Then he won't have time to do anything else, like organise gangbangs, and he won't _dare_ give Eduard away.


	11. Chapter 11

Lockdown ends and nobody even notices him. The other prisoners don't look his way. This is exactly like the shower incident. They avert their eyes not because it's polite. Not out of respect. Out of pity, because he's pathetic. Because he's a piece of meat not worth a glance when he isn't being fucked.  
  
Eduard has had sometime to think about what happened during lockdown, and has come to some conclusions. The most important is that he must somehow regain respect - Braginski's little displays of punishment, ownership, they cannot keep happening - but he knows of only one way, and that's transferring. Even standing his ground against other prisoners (even his own cellmates, because they too are bullies) will only grant him so much.  
  
He did well, however, to talk back to Braginski about the tattoos. Braginski could've hit him. Could've beat him senseless, but didn't. Braginski did not back down, as he had thought, but instead picked another battle. Therefore, the ball is in Eduard's court now, and he _has_ to retaliate, or Braginski will see him as someone who takes it. And he has a sneaking suspicion that Braginski doesn't find that very interesting. Eduard cannot blame him; neither would he.  
  
How could he get back at Braginski? Tattoos is out. Too boring, he's already done it. This, he'll have to think about.  
  
Whatever the case, he needs more secure allies. It won't be difficult to secure allies that are more faithful to him than Braginski's allies are to Braginski - Eduard can't bully people into being his friends, he lacks the strength - but it will be difficult to find people who aren't too afraid of Braginski to forge alliances. At least part of the process must involve getting Willem and Berwald on his side - they already dislike Braginski. He also has Lovino. Perhaps he could get Kris.  
  
His dinner is delivered to his cell by a quiet lanky guard, even though the rest of the prisoners of their wing are taking dinner in the cafeteria. Well, Eduard can hardly move, let alone sit, without pain. But he finds he has an extra bun on his plate, and a second helping of dessert. Someone must have arranged this, and it's most likely one of his cellmates, and of those, Braginski is the only one who would have that sort of influence on the guards.  
  
A gesture like this after what Braginski orchestrated in lockdown is puzzling, but par for the course. Holds him down and ties him up to be violated again and again and again, and then gets him extra dinner afterwards. Eduard props himself up on his elbows to eat it.  


* * *

A day later, the pain has dulled to a mild raw ache. Sitting for lifts still hurts, and jogging even more so, but he does both as their wing is only allowed so much time outdoors, and people are always watching him. He ignores the pain, the cat-calls, and the stares, for a full fifty minutes of running.

"Y'don't hafta push yerself so hard," murmurs Berwald, as Eduard picks up the 45 kg weight.

"The hell I don't," he snaps, and Berwald is silent.

The following day's ten-hour work shift is uneventful until he gets up to fetch solder and hears someone come up behind him, snickering, "Still walking a bit funny." He feels a hard pinch on his rear end and he jumps a mile.

Willem is on it in an instant. "What the _fuck_ you think you're doing? You don't fuckin' touch him, Sadik. Not one hand on him and you definitely don't touch his ass. He's not for fuckin' hire." He is so loud that the guards at the doors now stand at attention, ready to poorly defuse an escalating situation.

"Just a joke," sneers Sadik. He winks at Eduard as he walks by. Eduard's insides seem to liquefy with fear, though he maintains his composure.

"Yeah? Jokes like that're gonna get you in deep shit," Willem warns.

"Ivan'll see who's in deep shit," Sadik says.

"Fuck worryin' about him. I'll fuckin' _cut_ your hands off if you look his way again," growls Willem lowly. Sadik wanders off, a smile on his face, treating Willem's threats with unnatural levity, if in fact they are perceived as threats at all. Sadik doesn't seem concerned about Willem one bit. (But Braginski, perhaps.)

"Sorry 'bout that," Willem mutters to Eduard.

That was too forward upon someone who ostensibly has bodyguards. (And this is just evidence of what Eduard has already suspected: they don't work, bodyguards are not enough!) "He shouldn't've touched me," he spits. "Why did you let him?"

"I didn't _let him!_ Christ, I don't have eyes on the back of my head, that's all! I'd turned around and he got you then! It's nothing!" Willem hisses, for one of the impatient guards has taken a more active interest in their conversation and is tapping the worktable, an unsubtle 'get back to work' message behind the action.

"He should've been too terrified of you to lay a single hand on me," says Eduard. He sits down gingerly and begins setting the chips in the circuit board.

"Well sor- _ree_ ," says Willem defensively, not sounding sorry at all.

"I sleep with you because you protect me," he snaps. "If you can't protect me, if the only one he listens to is Braginski, then why am I sleeping with you?"

Willem's face sours completely. For the first time in a long time he actually looks pissed off, but Eduard is angry too. And rightly so! All of this, for nothing? For protection that doesn't even work? "Fuck you, Eduard," he says, and flounces off in a huff.

Eduard turns back to his work, and prepares to sit for the rest of the day, lest anybody else get ideas about pinching him. If he wants Willem on his side, then he shouldn't be so cruel. But a little backtalk won't interfere with Willem's need for sex, which will compel him to seek out Eduard, hoping that sex is in the cards, somewhere on the horizon. He'll come back. Don't they always?

Willem doesn't approach him again until an hour before the end of their shift. "'M sorry," he mumbles, taking a seat beside Eduard, folding his long limbs past the workbench and slouching.

Soldering chips and other components to the board occupies the majority of Eduard's attention. He doesn't look up. "What he said about Braginski, what do you think that was about?" he asks under his breath.

"Nothing," says Willem. "Dumb shit. Sadik's not that bad. He won't - he won't do anything." Silence from Eduard prompts more from Willem. "He _won't!_ He knows full fuckin' well that if he does anything out of line, Ivan will rip him a new asshole." He sighs. "He's not that bad a guy, to be honest. Neither is Gilbert."

"Gilbert?"

"Beilschmidt. Ivan's little friend." Ah yes. The probably-a-skinhead. Haven't seen him around in awhile. "They just act out because they have no recourse against _the Tsar_."

Eduard nods. "And do _you_ have any recourse against the Tsar?"

"If I did," Willem mutters, "do you think I'd still be where I am?"

Eduard does not reply, letting the silence speak for him in justifying how useless Willem has become.

After a long while Willem says, quiet and serious, "If he touches you again, tell me, and I will take his hands off."

"I'll find you the knife," murmurs Eduard.  


* * *

He doesn't see Berwald at the following day's rec time. Two days in a row of fresh air is uncommon, happens about once every two months, but everybody has a tendency to move outside. He gives up on the weights today although despite Berwald's absence, nobody has tried anything.

So he moves inside. Berwald isn't in the usual places. Not in the library, not in the cafeteria. These are both deserted. He can't be in the shower; shower privileges don't start for another hour.

He heads to their cell, where he finds Berwald in his bunk, reading. He takes his own seat in his own bunk and curls under the sheet.

"Y'didn't wanna go out?" asks Berwald.

Eduard shrugs. "Didn't feel up to it."

Berwald appears to be focussing on his book. When he doesn't reply, Berwald looks up and they lock eyes.

"C'mon up?" Berwald says. It's a question, an invitation, phrased like he can refuse. Eduard leaves his bunk and climbs up the other set of beds to Berwald's, where he sits down cross-legged beside Berwald, who is reclined on his side.

A few more minutes elapse. "'M sorry about lockdown," Berwald says at last, sheepishly. "I don't like hurtin' you."

Eduard raises his eyebrows.

Berwald shifts, uncomfortable. "Couldn't let Ivan be the only one doin' whut he was doin'. Him an' Will'm together means I'm the odd man out. An' Ivan's already guaranteed, talks it up ta make it look like it's queer not t' partake." Apt choice of word. "An' I _don't_ like Kris."

Eduard looks at him coolly. "Then why apologise?" he asks. "It was clearly the right thing to do for you."

Berwald returns to his book. "Y'didn't deserve it," he admits.

Good. Though he already knows that much. They are silent another awkward moment until Eduard asks, "Why don't you like Kris?"

"He's loud," mutters Berwald, "an' he talks a lot. Don't like people like that."

A lot of people are loud. A lot of people talk a lot. There's more to it than that. "Does he know what you did to get in here?" he guesses.

Berwald shakes his head.

"Did he try and get at you in the same way Braginski did?"

Berwald is silent. Then he says, "What d'you mean by that?"

Eduard must be careful. He contemplates asking him whether it's true or not what Braginski says about Berwald. Contemplates revealing the things that Braginski has said to him about Berwald. Surely that will get Berwald on his side! But no, that's too easy. And snitches aren't liked.

Besides, if Berwald knows that Braginski has started poisoning Eduard to Berwald... at the moment all Eduard is sure that Berwald knows, is that Braginski likes to talk about others and use the information about them to his advantage. But everybody knows _that_. Eduard's also heard this from Lovino and most particularly Willem. If he reveals that Braginski has started saying things to Eduard, then it would reveal that Eduard is aware of doubts about Berwald's sexuality, whether they are his own or Braginski's, which puts himself at risk of being manipulated by another agent - Berwald, who is more likely to manipulate Eduard to his side than go after Braginski directly. _Eduard_ wants to be the one doing the manipulating.

"You said once you could get head anytime you wanted," Eduard says instead. "Did Kris try and have people think - think something about you, because of it?"

"Y'mean, did he tell people I was a fag fer takin' a bitch b'fore."

Eduard blushes.

"Y'can say th' words," Berwald sneers.

"I don't know if I can," he replies, trying to sound nervous. "Willem called you and Braginski fruits, and he was just foolish and angry, and Braginski went mad about it. A-and what happens when he gets mad, I-I don't like."

The feigning of fear seems to work; Berwald becomes comforting instead of suspicious. He shakes his head. "Oh, I don't think a lil' name-calling's whut got under'is skin. Christ knows, he likes t' call people names all th' time. Don't make none'f it true." Berwald thinks further, weighing something in his mind, before speaking. "Kris was th' one. That I got head from. B'fore you came along."

_There's_ a nice surprise. So at least one person has managed to be in the bitch position and get out of it. Then it's possible for him! "Then... don't you have something against him?"

"'F course I do. But he's got somethin' against me so's a standoff. Neither'f us like each other. So no one else ever found out."

Now that is interesting. What, indeed, could Kris have against Berwald? Closed-off, menacing, looming Berwald?

And why did Berwald tell him? What else might Berwald tell him?

"Then... you haven't had head in awhile," Eduard reasons.

Berwald gives a non-committal grunt and returns to his book.

Shyly, Eduard lies down next to him, face-to-face, and unbuttons the top of Berwald's jumpsuit to mid-chest. He isn't wearing an undershirt beneath. Eduard leans in and kisses him, below the collarbone, and traces a few kisses lower. As he moves lower the kisses grow less innocent, feature more tongue.

Berwald doesn't react, but he isn't reading that book anymore. He closes it and pushes it to the side. "S'pose it's useless ta ask you whut y'think yer doin'," he murmurs.

Eduard unbuttons him the rest of the way and unclips the belt at Berwald's waist. He opens him further up, then uses his hands to stroke along Berwald's sides, up and across his chest, following the path his lips have taken. "Nobody's watching," he adds between kisses, "and even if they were, I'm the one doing all the work, so the slander's on me anyway." Not like that's new.

He kisses lower, at the waistband of Berwald's underwear now, and as he dips just inside the elastic, he darts a glance up. Berwald is still, with his eyes magnetised to Eduard. He keeps the eye contact as Eduard licks a six-inch expanse of salt-flavoured skin from Berwald's angular hips to his belly, as he strokes down with his other hand, and grabs him firmly by the upper thigh.

If this is what Kris had seen, then no wonder he has something on Berwald. Berwald wants this so openly. He's not even trying to hide it.

Berwald strains with the effort not to move but it's getting difficult now that Eduard has pulled the front of his underwear down, and his cock springs free. The head of it brushes past Eduard's neck and hits the bottom of his chin. He wonders if the stubble is more arousing or tickling for Berwald. Putting the theory to the test, he rubs his cheek along it, and Berwald's thigh shakes in his hand. His breath comes uneasily through his parted lips.

He must have been lying about getting head 'anytime he wanted'. Any more than once would have tipped the slander in favour of Berwald, and he wouldn't worry about Kris. He still might hold it over Kris' head, but Berwald seems the honourable type who might deal in information but who would rarely use it if it's a nasty gossipy kind of use - only to protect himself, and only when strictly necessary. Kris, meanwhile, doesn't seem quite as honourable. The something Kris has against Berwald would have to be related to their time together.

Perhaps then it was Berwald who let slip something, who enjoyed it too much, who was a bit too into it for a straight guy who just 'wanted to get his dick wet'. Certainly he's let slip these things with Eduard before, and the way Berwald looks at him now presents only more evidence to that theory. Then it could only have happened the once, for if Berwald had let it slip twice - if they'd had more than one incident together - it would have tipped the slander in favour of Kris, who would have used its power.

"I like you like this," whispers Eduard, before he gently tongues a single line from the root of Berwald's cock to the tip, where a bead of liquid has already gathered in the crown of the foreskin.

Sucking cock is never going to taste nice, but this sort of tastes like victory, in a way. Berwald bites his lip to keep quiet and his eyes look somewhere between terrified and excited. Eduard pulls the head of Berwald's cock in his mouth and sucks it clean, watching Berwald fight not to betray himself through his facial expressions, fight not to make noise, and lose.

When Berwald finally lets slip a brief moan, Eduard rewards him with a deeper reach, sinking his mouth onto Berwald's cock, slowly taking it into his mouth. Berwald is large, but Eduard has gotten good at this. He's had a lot of practice.

It has to be better than anything Kris would've done. Won't be difficult.

What will be difficult is convincing Berwald that Eduard can keep a secret, that they can have secrets between them, about how much either of them - both of them - enjoy what they do together. And for that, the easiest and most convincing way is to persuade Berwald that Eduard has a personal reason not to give him away. That Eduard likes him, so that Berwald will like Eduard.

He keeps his eyes on Berwald's, watching him over the rim of his glasses, watching as Berwald watches his cock disappear in Eduard's mouth. Berwald gently, cautiously, shifts his hips to accept it, to push more of himself inside Eduard, his cheeks red and his expression openly aroused, and when more of him slips past Eduard's lips, he gasps so quietly Eduard strains to hear it.

Eduard's beginning to see how some people might consider this a form of power. Berwald enjoys this far too much to be heterosexual. The way his cock twitched when Eduard raked the small stubble on his cheek over it. A mouth's a mouth, but that's a distinctly male feature. The way he got hard when Eduard began kissing a path down his chest - what kind of guy gets hard on that? Perhaps if he were fantasising, with his eyes closed, pretending Eduard was anybody else. But he watched and leered with his eyes peeled wide and Eduard knows his face can't be easily confused for feminine. This is just proof and more proof atop what he's suspected for sometime now, without Braginski's intervention.

And all of it Eduard knows by watching, by controlling Berwald who has his vital regions where Eduard keeps his teeth.

Shakily, Berwald moves his hand lower, between his legs, threading his thick fingers into Eduard's hair. He caresses his head, soothing the hairs this way and that, almost as massaging his scalp. Guiding more than pushing the motion that Eduard has already adopted himself - up and down, over and over, on his cock. Berwald doesn't like hurting Eduard - he remembers that much is true - but there's a difference between not wanting to hurt someone unnecessarily and soft little gestures like these. Eduard hasn't been here that long, but long enough to realise that you don't pet a _bitch_.

There's still one mystery remaining. Eduard concentrates on the tip of Berwald's cock now, flicking his tongue across the top, slipping it inside the foreskin to curl around the glans and rub more firmly. With his hand, he jacks Berwald off, as tight as he likes it on himself, and the motion drags the foreskin slowly down over the head and back again. Berwald is still watching him, gasping and agape, both his hands on Eduard now, cradling Eduard's head in his palms. One slips out of his hair and caresses his cheek lovingly.

It's very gratifying how much Berwald is enjoying this. Eduard imagines the way it must feel for him, hot and wet, a tight grip with his hand, his other hand soft and warm on his thigh, and realises that he's hard as well.

It's the power, he tells himself. Berwald is appreciative, and he's learnt much about him by doing this! Just the power!

Berwald's hips begin to tremble. Eduard grasps them harder with the hand he has free, which isn't feeding Berwald's cock into his mouth, trying to pin him down, but it's of no use, Berwald is frenzied, pushing himself into Eduard's mouth, panting. He supposes that's enough teasing and lets go of the cock, keeping all his strength to pin Berwald down by his hips as he descends full on with his mouth, taking him as deep as he can. These past few months have taught him well; it's pretty deep. His nose is buried in Berwald's hair, as Berwald's hands are buried in Eduard's. Berwald whines - it's unmistakable - twice, three times, and then moans long and loud as he spills down Eduard's throat, Eduard's face in his large, gentle hands.

Eduard sits back on his haunches as he swallows, licking his lips clean.

Berwald looks at him, and then looks at his crotch, where his jumpsuit is tented. "Yer not gay," he whispers.

Oh? Because it takes one to know one? Eduard shrugs. "I was a lot of things before I came here," he says vaguely.

Berwald props himself up on his elbows and checks around. There's one fellow across the hall to the left, no easy line of sight, and he's dead asleep and snoring; everybody else is gone, outside, won't be back for another half hour. Berwald looks back to Eduard and says in a quiet, desperate voice, "Touch yourself. I wanna see."

Victory. _There's no other way_ , he thinks, as he gets out his cock. Rock hard and aching, yes, how had that happened? That he likes serving that much? Well! He has never denied the fact that he enjoys giving, that was so with everybody he's ever been with! (All of two girls, for what that experience is worth.) That he loves being on his knees, slavishly devoted to sucking cock? Loves sucking cock? The humiliation brings a chill to his spine that isn't entirely unpleasant, judging from the way his dick leaps in his hand. But if he's looking not to be a bitch anymore, this is the wrong way to go about it.

Whatever the case, it's been useful, because this cements it - there's no way, there's no way that Berwald isn't gay. Because who asks for this?

On second thought, Willem did tell him once to touch himself. A few times, in fact. Well, Willem with his magazine collection is perhaps not the straightest arrow in the quiver, but hides it better than Berwald does. Willem only lets suspicions be seen when it was he and him alone, no others, blocked from view by a sheet. And all for Willem's paranoia, he's managed however long he's been here as a sex addict without anybody slandering him. Without Braginski slandering him. Someone must have seen something in Berwald, done something to Berwald, noticed something about Berwald, for it to have gotten back to Braginski, for how else would Braginski know? Why would Braginski pick on Berwald, and not Willem (who seems an easier target, more deferential to Braginski)?

Does Braginski know what Kris and Berwald did? How could he? If he did, Berwald would have been a thousand percent more careful with Eduard.

But more to the point, Willem has never sat there and watched him stroke himself off, his thighs spread, his cock aching, while he reclines and grows harder as Berwald does now.

"Do you want to fuck me?" Eduard asks, panting, fucking his hand.

Berwald, spit-shiny lips with how often he licks them, nods.

Eduard swallows, nervous. "So?"

But Berwald shakes his head. "Yer still raw. I can wait."

Ever the gentleman! Can Eduard really give him up? Use him? When he looks at Eduard like that? It makes him shiver, thinking about how openly Berwald wants him, how he looks at him. He looks hungry for it. _He wants me_ , thinks Eduard, and he's unabashed about it - why else would he check to make sure that nobody else is watching before he asked for this? And Berwald is sweet, unlike Braginski who uses it as a tool, as a defence to hide a monster behind.

"You can, i-if you want to," Eduard moans, "I'm yours - I, _mm_ , I do whatever you want," and it's not entirely a lie.

Berwald sits up and shuffles closer on the bed, his jumpsuit still open from neck to groin, all that warm hot skin exposed, his nipples peaked with cold or arousal, it doesn't matter which, the image is disturbingly attractive and Eduard feels himself ache in his hand, wanting to touch him again. Berwald leans closer and whispers, into the crook of Eduard's neck, "I don't wanna hurt you," Berwald whispers, and places a hand around Eduard's cock as he kisses his neck.

And that's it, Eduard is gone, breathless with moaning, coming hard into his hand - both their hands - his head tilted up as Berwald tongues his jawline.

When he opens his eyes again, he finds Berwald tucking himself back into his jumpsuit, fully hard now, but ignoring it. Berwald is inches from him, and from this intimate proximity, he can feel the radiation of body heat. Eduard checks over Berwald's shoulder - nobody is around, nobody is watching. "I would have let you, if you'd wanted it," he says, then looks away coyly. "I wouldn't've cared, I meant it, I'm yours."

His eyes must betray what he wants them to because Berwald kisses him deeply, and moans into his mouth as he does it.

They have ten minutes before the bell for end of rec time sounds, and they spend it making out like teenagers.

Berwald, when he isn't worked up into a tense frenzy of lust, is a fantastic kisser, his lips soft and supple, sliding smoothly over his own, his tongue stroking gracefully over his, keeping it up until Eduard is pliant and relaxed in his arms. Berwald is conscious of his nose and rocks his face into Eduard's, pressing them together with a shy hand on Eduard, cupping the back of his neck, and for two men who both wear glasses, they don't knock together much. He knows what he's doing, Eduard thinks, and remembers Braginski's dangerous words: _I wonder if his ass is as tight as yours, I wonder if his mouth is as hot as yours, it may mean an end in sight for you, yes?_

Braginski cannot know of this.

By the time Braginski and Willem come back, Eduard has returned to his bunk, with a book in his lap to hide the gigantic erection he sports, thinking of the desperate, heartfelt way Berwald holds him.  


* * *

  
That evening he meets with Lovino. For one, he needs more lube.

Lovino accomplishes the transaction and then slips a single piece of paper towards him. From the way Lovino is looking furtively around him - again, the lube stands proudly between them, and few people come near their table - Eduard has the impression this is something of a secret message. It's written in Italian.

__Meet me in an hour outside. Inside the doors to the rec yard. Bring two smokes._ _

He nods and pockets the paper, where it will stay until his jumpsuit gets washed and the ink will run.

An hour later, he watches from the shadows as Lovino shuffle up to him. "This is confidential," says Lovino in a low voice, still in Italian. Their faces are perhaps two inches apart. Lovino's eyes are hazel, greenish-brown, Eduard notes, and he has thick dramatic eyelashes. He snaps out of it. "Our little Russian friend is planning something."

Already? It's not his turn! Eduard hasn't even had a chance to move! "How do you know?"

"Spotted him off talking to a guard. Kirkland, reedy, wiry little thing. Knows his shit though, can hold his own."

"How's that different from Braginski talking to any other guard?"

"Kirkland is solitary confinement duty," Lovino explains. "I've never seen him talk to Kirkland before, or if he has, it's seldom. Kirkland isn't one of the ones on Ivan's team of guard confidantes, that's like - Laurinaitis and Asparuhov and those guys."

Eduard files away the names for further use, and returns to the topic at hand. So who's in solitary that Braginski knows? "Beilschmidt," Eduard realises. "He's been in a week."

"Almost done. Thought it was a little too quiet in here."

"He's trying to get a message to him," Eduard suggests, thinking out loud, _sotto voce_. "Or he's trying to antagonise him via the guard."

"I think a message," Lovino replies. "Not many people would try antagonising through solitary, that's cruel, 'specially if you've been in solitary like Ivan has before. No, he knows better, he wants Beilschmidt to work with him, for him. Not against him, not this time."

Eduard understands. "What was he in solitary for?"

"See, that's the thing," Lovino says. "Braginski picked a fight with him. It was so obvious, an' he was clearly the one who shoulda gotten put in solitary - _he_ pulled the first punch, _he_ was the one who prodded Beilschmidt into it, he's bigger and he didn't hold back, there were witnesses - but of course he wormed out of it, it was Laurinitis on duty. Laurinitis doesn't like Beilschmidt too much. So it was Beilschmidt who went, and that was that."

Interesting. "Did Beilschmidt take the fall for him?"

"Didn't look that way. When that happens, I've seen it. Ivan's sweet and coy and teasing about things when he's punching you up. Like it's a joke you're both in on. But he barked at Gil, ordering him around, and Gil was spittin' fuckin' mad. He doesn't get that mad that often - he doesn't risk it, doesn't want to piss off Ivan too much. He knows _that_ much to keep his temper in check with Ivan."

Eduard thinks quick. Braginski picks a fight with Beilschmidt, and it seems genuine. Braginski is either looking for distance from Beilschmidt, or to put him away where he can't be touched. Isn't that one less ally for Braginski? Doesn't that work _less_ in his favour? No, if one thing is true of Braginski it's that he never moves to make it less in his favour, though he might sacrifice a piece for a better play. This must somehow be his plan. He must need Beilschmidt away for something, which means he's doing something behind Beilschmidt's back. What could that be? If it benefitted Beilschmidt all along, Braginski would have said so, and Beilschmidt would be in on the fight and taken the fall happily - it would be an easier job for Braginski that way - but it was genuine, and Beilschmidt wasn't, and he didn't. Then it must not benefit Beilschmidt. What is he taking from Beilschmidt? Stealing from his cell?

"Who else is in Beilschmidt's cell?" asks Eduard.

"Sadik Adnan. And some old asshole named Fritz who's been here 40 years and doesn't understand where he is anymore."

_Sadik_. And Sadik's the one who pinched him so ostentatiously, in front of Willem. Perhaps Sadik was meeting with Braginski to strike at Beilschmidt? "Sadik and Beilschmidt are close?" he asks.

"Super. Peas in a pod, those two."

Hmm... "And how is Sadik's feelings towards - our Russian friend?"

Lovino smirks. "Hates him, that's for sure. Ivan's got him pinned." This must be true, for Willem too said as much. "If Sadik used his fuckin' head once in awhile, maybe he could get out of Ivan's influence. Same with Gil, to be honest. But the two of them are always smoking up."

"Pot?"

Lovino shakes his head. "Something a bit stronger."

Eduard's eyes go wide. "That's illegal." Especially in here. If caught, the punishment is severe.

"Nobody gives a fuck. Can't exactly blame 'em. Anything to escape the bars. I know _I'd_ do fuckin' anything. Oh, father and son above, any've us would. But some of the guys are dumber than others about it."

Put that way, the 'why' makes perfect sense. "How do they get it?"

He shrugs. "It's not something I deal in. I don't ask no fuckin' questions." Lovino grins. "You really wanna know, you can ask your lil' Dutch friend, if your -"

"Yes, yes," Eduard interrupts, "if my mouth's not full. So funny. You know, you've used that one already."

Lovino gives him a half-smile and brushes his bangs out of his eyes. On him, the movement is downright flirtatious and Eduard's heart skips a beat. "Aw, I just like to tease you, kid. You don't laugh too much." Deftly, he takes one of the cigarettes from Eduard - with a single motion he strokes a finger over Eduard's, and the other cigarette tumbles to the ground from Eduard's jellified hand.

Eduard swallows, and bends to pick it up as he hears the _pssht_ of a match struck above him. But this was useful, even if Eduard isn't yet sure how. And he needs allies badly. If it weren't for the fact that he was owned, and these such actions are decided upon no longer by him...

Then again, no one needs to know, and no one is around. They are alone in the dark.

"Is cigarettes truly all you want from me?" Eduard murmurs, still on his knees, mouth level with Lovino's groin if not too close.

It's a pre-emptive strike. And a very risky chance.

Lovino looks down at him with heavy-lidded eyes. It's a good look for him. He takes a long drag on the cigarette and exhales it slowly, then he shakes his head.

Eduard gets to his feet. Really? Is he like Berwald, in that he doesn't want to hurt Eduard? Or is he just smart enough not to let himself be taken in? Eduard had thought Lovino wasn't as guarded with him. He hands Lovino the other cigarette, and Lovino tucks it behind his ear.

"I'm not clean," Lovino admits at last.

It takes a moment for it to sink in. Not clean as in - needs a shower, as in mob connections, as in drugs, as in - suddenly it dawns on him. "Are you sure?"

Lovino glares at him. "Yeah. _Positive_. An' so's the test that came back, oh, about two years ago. Nothing's happened yet, but it's there."

"I-I had, uh, I had no idea," Eduard says, shocked into stammering.

He shrugs. "It's not like I gotta sign with symptoms, idiot. No one can ever tell from looking."

"I'm -"

"And _don't_ you say you're sorry," he continues. He takes another long drag on the cigarette. "I don't need the pity for shit that's my own dumb fault."

Was it drugs? Was it sex? Was it a blood transfusion? Well it couldn't've been that, if it happened two years ago; they don't have the set up for that in a prison so if he had needed one, they would have airlifted him to a proper hospital, which would have taken the precautions.

What gave him HIV? Eduard's dying to know. "You said - hard stuff wasn't something you dealt in," he says, mostly trying to work it through himself and talking the clues out, not expecting an answer.

Lovino finishes his cigarette and throws it to the ground, stamping on it. His thin, wiry legs are still so very beautiful. "Anymore," he says.

He gives a little nod and a wave and disappears into the shadows, and with that, their conversation is concluded.  


* * *

Braginski planning something means Eduard has to act first. He gets back to his cell and thinks about it all the way through next day's lockdown period.

Throughout all of lockdown, Willem is silent. He doesn't touch him, he doesn't go near him. He hardly moves from his bunk except to use the toilet. This is the first lockdown that that's happened. Braginski's plans must extend to him too, although how, it's not clear yet.

When lockdown is over, both Willem and Braginski take off. Eduard hears Braginski catch up to Willem as Willem tears off at a fast pace: "Hang on, friend! I was wondering about something..."

This leaves him alone with Berwald. Just as well, Berwald is one of the easiest he could get as an ally, and makes a better contender against Braginski than Willem. "Hey," he whispers. "Come down here."

There is nobody around after lockdown has freed their wing - one fellow off a few cells hence is still engrossed in a book, or perhaps asleep, it's hard to tell - but Berwald scoffs anyway. "I don't come at yer call," he says, looking at his mattress and sheet and at the wall and at everything but Eduard.

Eduard takes his sheet and pins it up between the slats of the bed frame on Braginski's end. He lets it hang down curtain-style, as Willem did once, to block the view from the hallway. He unbuttons his jumpsuit past the waist and unclips the belt. Then he peeks out from the side. "How about now?" he asks, suggestively leaning back so that Berwald can see his chest is exposed.

Berwald takes a single glance at him and reddens. He snorts again, looks around him, and then swings his legs to the ladder and vaults neatly off the bed. The movement looks smooth, practised. He kneels to enter Eduard's bunk. "'Kay, whut th' fuck is yer game, Eduard?" he growls. "I already told you. Yer not gay. What d'you think yer doing?"

"I said once that I promised myself to you as the bitch if you would protect me," says Eduard. "And you have, so it's what you get."

"And this?" asks Berwald, pointing to the curtain.

"I've noticed you like privacy. That you like doing things that some people might... get different impressions of. You know, your facial expressions betray you. I don't want you in trouble."

Berwald glares.

"If you accept nothing else, accept that you're no good to me if he gets you too!" says Eduard.

"Who's he?"

"You know who I mean. You're the only one who really stands against him." A lie, perhaps, but it flatters Berwald and makes him preen. "I'm declaring myself in your corner - for whatever that's worth. I know I haven't anything to offer."

"So then this?"

"Well, I want you to enjoy yourself," Eduard says. He bites his lip and looks down. "A lot," he whispers. This next part is crucial: "I enjoy it when you're enjoying yourself," he murmurs coyly. "You're an even better lover."

Berwald pounces, knocks Eduard flat on his back, and fuses their lips together. He shoves Eduard's glasses up on his forehead and for a solid minute does nothing but kiss the breath out of him as Eduard groans against his mouth, holding him close and running his fingers all over Eduard's naked chest, thumbing the nipples, thirsty for touch. It feels so very good! Eduard was always a sucker for a soft touch, but Berwald makes him shiver. Berwald kisses down his neck, rolls his hips against Eduard's and scratches a blunt thumbnail over his nipple. Eduard arches helplessly in his grasp, begging with his body for everything more. Berwald thrusts against him again and Eduard is pleased to find Berwald is hot and hard already.

"I do like this, damn me fer it," mutters Berwald sadly, his tongue at Eduard's collarbone and his fingers peeling the jumpsuit off Eduard, past his shoulders. Eduard clumsily pulls his arms free to wrap them around Berwald's strong shoulders, his massive biceps, clutching them as he thrusts up back into Berwald's groin.

Eduard knows he isn't this good an actor. Berwald is just that good at making out, hot and heavy. Whatever Eduard doesn't have to act away, so much the better. Makes him look genuine. Maybe he is genuine. Eduard doesn't know anymore. "Love this too," he pants. "Oh god, yes," he gasps into Berwald's mouth, and wraps his legs around Berwald's waist to press their cocks together through their jumpsuits.

Berwald finally reaches his groin and flattens his palm against Eduard's cock. Eduard can't help it at all, a feeble moan escapes him and he trembles. "God yes," he pants again, "touch me, please, oh, do it." Berwald, too far gone to contest a suggestion like that - and hidden from view by the makeshift curtain - shoves in his hand inside the waistband of Eduard's underwear and curls his hand around Eduard's cock just as he takes Eduard's lower lip between his teeth and bites.

_Sex is so good_ , Eduard thinks gleefully, arched up with one arm around Berwald's shoulders, the other gripping the biceps of one arm, so large he can't get his hand around them, stroking down to those forearms like logs. When Berwald can be assured nobody's watching, he's as good as Willem, and twice as considerate. He throbs against Berwald's hand, so hard it hurts.

He slips his hand down further to Berwald's waist and undoes the buttons with great difficulty now that his mind is spinning. He plunges in and sweeps past Berwald's underwear to his cock. This is hard to do. So he pushes the form-fitting elastic down past Berwald's ass.

Momentarily Berwald's concentration is broken - you _don't touch_ the ass, he's _not_ a bitch - but when he sees that Eduard has only done it to get at his cock, and still nobody can see them, he calms down. Then Eduard brings their cocks together and he winds up again.

The rhythm is difficult, Berwald's hips piston uncontrollably. "Here," Eduard says, coaxing him to the side, "let me -" and he gets on top and straddles him, then touches them both together again. "Oh fuck," he groans. "Yeah, just - let me."

Berwald does, watching him from below with his hands on Eduard's hips, coaxing their movements. Eduard throbs with the way Berwald watches him and finds that he's growing close already. The mere thought of riding this ridiculously big man has aroused him that much.

He decides for it abruptly. He lifts a leg to shuck the rest of his jumpsuit and underwear down, nearly naked. Then he leans forward and sneaks a hand under the pillow where Berwald lays his head.

"What're you doin'?" asks Berwald.

"I want you to fuck me," Eduard says desperately. And the only thing that stops him panicking - for he is not lying at all anymore, this is no act, he craves this in a serious and consensual way - is the anticipation. This is dangerous for Eduard, in situations like these not to think with his brain, for he truly isn't. He's had Berwald in his ass before, he knows what it feels like, the burst of pain from someone that thick giving way to blissful pleasure that he knows Berwald is capable of. He thinks of Berwald's hard cock inside him, Berwald's big hands on his hips, moving up and down to take more in, reclining back to graze his prostate to set the lights off behind his eyes, ready to ride him into oblivion, and his cock throbs.

_I was a lot of things before I came here,_ he remember saying to Berwald not days ago, and never has it been more true than now, as he lines himself up and sinks down with a shaky moan. He wants this so badly.

Berwald groans but Eduard hardly hears it, obscured as it is by his own soft cries. His eyes are shut tight and his hands gripping the bed slats of Braginski's bunk for support. It's a bit cramped but not so bad that he can't get leverage, and he pulls himself up to sink down again with a sigh.

"Fuck," says Berwald appreciatively, and Eduard agrees. He runs his fingers over Eduard's naked chest, his fingertips skating over his skin, and Eduard has goosebumps down his back. He sinks down again and shifts his hips and it makes his vision swim with how good it feels.

"No one can see," says Eduard, "no one at all except me." Berwald gets a hand around Eduard's cock and though the angle is awkward for his hand, he sets himself immediately to the task of getting Eduard off. His other hand, he brings up to Eduard's lips. Eduard kisses the fingertips he gives him, then slips one inside his mouth, curling his tongue around it as Berwald curls his hands around him, as he lifts himself up and fucks himself down on beautiful, big, Berwald.

"Fuck, yes," pants Berwald, blushing, "fuck me, fuck yourself, do it, come fer me."

Berwald's dirty talk has him on edge already. He grinds his hips down harder, taking Berwald in deeper. "Love this," gasps Eduard around Berwald's fingers in his mouth, as he wraps his hand around Berwald's other hand, coaxing it on him, enlacing their fingers together to fuck Berwald's fist, as his big, calloused thumb smears pre-come over the head of Eduard's cock, "love you like this, 'm so close, love you - ah, _ah_ -"

"Hmm! What have we here?" sneers a cool voice.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Eduard whispers rhetorically.

Berwald's hands disappear immediately from his cock and his lips, and he clenches them on Eduard's hips instead, seconds before the curtain is ripped off at the side to expose the writhing pair on the bed to the rest of the cell. The curtain portion facing the hallway, pillow-side of the bed, is still up. Eduard looks to his side to find Braginski - all sparkling eyes and gleaming wide smiles - and Willem, trailing behind him, looking forlorn. Willem makes little eye contact but peeps glances over Braginski's shoulder, and it's clear he likes what he sees.

"How sad, that we were not invited," says Braginski. "Aren't you sad?"

Willem mutters something.

"Well, _I_ am sad! So I think I will just join your party, yes? It will make me not sad!" Braginski kneels and ducks into the bunk and picks up the bottle of lube by Eduard's knee.

"Y'can't wait 'til I'm finished?" drawls Berwald.

"There is room for two more, I think," says Braginski.

"Not two like you two," Berwald retorts.

"We will squish in together then, yes? One big, happy family!" Eduard is frozen, too scared to move, Berwald's hard cock still up his ass. He can't see Braginski unless he looks over his shoulder behind him, but he can hear him, smell him, and feel him as Braginski kneels between Berwald's legs, straddled by Eduard, and helps himself to the lube with a squirt. Then the shift of fabric and the click of his jumpsuit belt being undone.

Willem stays at the edge of the bed on the side, effectively a curtain himself against people looking in from an angle.

Eduard feels a blunt pressure at his asshole and is horrified. This can't be what Braginski meant by squish in together? "I - I can't!"

"You did once before, didn't you?" says Braginski. "This is only one finger, you have taken a whole five, I hear!"

"Get yer fuckin' hand away from my cock 'r I'll rip yer fuckin' fingers off," Berwald growls. He's angry now. He looks it. Eduard has never seen him this mad, and to be frank, it scares him a little. And Berwald is still firmly lodged inside him. Eduard is atop a bull, horns and all.

"Oh, but you like hands on your cock," Braginski chirps, "everyone does. Anyone's will do, I'm sure!"

"Ivan," Berwald says dangerously, "I mean it, this's too far. _Fuck off._ "

"If you feel so angry about it you can tell yourself that it was my hand and your cock! Besides, _he's_ the one who's going to make you come, not me. I am just - being helpful!" Braginski slicks up another digit and works it inside Eduard. He feels full already, Berwald plus two of Braginski's fingers, and can only sit there and take it. He can hardly maneuver himself into spreading his legs wider to try and accommodate it; he's already spread as wide as he can. It's best to let Braginski do what he will.

Berwald isn't so easily placated. "Helpful don't extend t' th' thumb y've got on m' balls," he snaps.

"You shouldn't be so worried!" Braginski says. "You'll enjoy this!" He twists his fingers - three of them now, and Berwald himself - inside and Eduard whines. "But _he_ won't," Braginski says, a smile in his voice. "Will you, Eddie? Not unless you are very good. Be a very good boy for me, yes?"

"Why are you doing this?" Eduard grunts.

"'Cause he fuckin' _can_ ," Berwald mutters.

"I am proving a point," Braginski says, and removes his fingers from Eduard.

Eduard supposes he knows what's going to happen now and braces himself, already wincing and terrified. Braginski shoves him down further, onto his elbows, inches from Berwald's face. Berwald is too busy being mad at Braginski to offer Eduard comfort, but below, where Berwald's hands are on Eduard's hips still, his thumbs stroke him slowly, calmingly.

"Th-that being?" asks Eduard.

"That you are mine - this is one," says Braginski. He urges himself inside, just the head of his cock, but already it feels like Eduard is going to split apart. This is worse than that time Willem put his fist up his ass! He tries to relax himself and feels his hole give in response, but only slightly. It won't be enough, he thinks, and begins to panic. His breath grows shallow. Braginski will _rip him apart_.

"And also," - and this last bit is in Russian, hissed hastily in Eduard's ear as Braginski lifts him back up to press against his chest with an arm flung across Eduard's belly, his fingers splayed there and softly stroking Eduard's skin in a mockery of comfort. His airway opened, his breath evens out, and Braginski takes the opportunity to push in further. He has added more lube but it isn't nearly enough - "because he is lying when he says he doesn't like this."

It's clear from the context that he means Berwald.

"This is two," Braginski says, continuing in throaty, husky Russian, nibbling on Eduard's ear. "He _likes_ my cock against his. Our balls are brushing together. He likes that too. I know he does, I know what he did to get in here! Nggh, this feels so good, he is like hot hard silk beside me. And he's so mad! You can feel it, can't you, Edik? Ah-h! He's so mad he could hurt me, he wants to flip us upside down and pound us both into the floor - mmmph, I can imagine it! - but he won't, and instead I'm going to ride him with you. He twitches inside you. He's blushing with arousal. He's panting for it."

"He's panting because he has two people on his chest, and he can't breathe," Eduard retorts, too sore to feel self-conscious about his accent.

Braginski pushes in further and this hits something inside Eduard. The heads of two cocks, meeting and kissing at his prostate, no, it's far too much and he cannot handle this! For a brief moment he shudders and trembles in Braginski's arms and knows nothing but hot, sharp, intense sensation, so blinding it's painful but so much it's good. He probably cries out though he doesn't remember it and can tell only because his throat is growing hoarse. Braginski lets him ride the bliss for a moment before he begins to thrust against Berwald, rutting their cocks together inside him. Eduard flushes to mid-chest, his eyes wide and helpless, barely clinging to his faculties as he rides the stimulation.

"That may be so," Braginski says in English. He continues the rest of their exchange in Russian, "Then this is three - I enjoy this myself, or don't you think so?"

Eduard replies in like. May Berwald not understand a word they're saying! "Your cock is touching another man's," he explains, "how can you enjoy this?"

"You think I care? I have him exactly where I want him. He can't do anything without hurting you - and he can't bear the thought of hurting you, what a sweet soft man he is! - so he can do nothing but take it as _nggh_ \- as I fuck you both together!" Braginski's voice is high and shaky, his hands trembling as he grips Eduard and holds him close. "I love this, _mmh,_ I love having people so strong at my mercy!"

"Then give him m-mercy," Eduard implores, even as Braginski pushes up inside him and makes him moan.

"I shall - a-ah! - w-when it suits me! Ah!" Braginski moans, and his hips stiffen and shudder against Eduard's pelvis as he comes. He sinks his teeth into the back of Eduard's neck to stifle his cries.

When Braginski's breath evens out, he is still inside Eduard, his cock pressed against Berwald's. "Keep going, Edik," he says in English, and slaps him playfully on the ass to encourage Eduard to ride them both. He coaxes the movements out with a hand on Eduard's left hip - Berwald's hand is still on Eduard's right. Together - and Berwald cooperates, though he doesn't look happy about it - they move Eduard up and down on two cocks, one softening inside him.

"Let's get another in here," says Braginski, "I think our bitch can take all three of us at the same time, can't he?"

Three?! "No!" Eduard cries, "two is too much, three is - please - you'll hurt me!"

"I don't wanna," says Willem, "I'm not in the mood."

"What a lie," says Braginski, "what am I looking at in your pants, hmm?" It's true, Willem is rock hard and tenting his jumpsuit, a dark wet spot at the crotch of the material. He wants it, he really wants it.

"Undo it for him, Eduard, you can have him in your mouth." Braginski pushes his fingers roughly past Eduard's lips. "I know how you like to have things in your mouth, my dear," he says, and licks a mean strip up the side of Eduard's cheek. "Go on."

In the mouth, he can handle. And Eduard knows better than to argue. Better in his mouth than a third cock in his ass. He doesn't even know how the logistics of that would work and he finds he doesn't want to think about it. Shakily, he unclips Willem's jumpsuit belt, then undoes the buttons past his waist. As always, Willem wears no underwear and his cock springs free. "Well, come closer," he says, rocking slowly up and down on Berwald and Braginski both.

"You don't have to," Willem says.

Of course he does! What a useless statement. But Eduard, with a wry grim smile, winks up at him with the eye Braginski can't see, on the other side of his profile, for they are all pinned helpless by Braginski. "This much, I am used to," he says, before he closes his eyes and sinks his mouth down on Willem's cock.

" _Yess_ ," says Braginski, "show him everything you've learned these past few months. You don't deserve it, Willem. It's yours only because I say so. Only when I say so. Do you understand that now?"

"You're an asshole, Ivan," says Willem, deadly soft. The look he gives Braginski could skewer him nine times over.

But Eduard is the one who's impaled, and Willem's intense ire makes things so much sweeter for Braginski, who bumps up - he's still relatively hard - inside Eduard. Eduard moans with the shock of it, and the vibration has Willem fucking his face in moments, one leg propped up on the mattress to better shove himself in.

"Fff _uck_ ," Willem moans.

"He's good, isn't he? He has been taught well," says Braginski, and twitches again to make Eduard moan. He wraps an arm around Eduard and pulls at his cock. Not lovingly like Berwald does - not so that Eduard can get off like Willem does - not because he cares about Eduard's pleasure at all. As a tool.

No, Eduard is a tool. He lets himself accept it and for the moment, _not be._

Pull this lever, press this button, and it makes a sound. It makes a sound and its mouth vibrates. Anything in its mouth feels the vibration. It moves faster on the cocks to get more of the needy feeling. It bounces on them to get more cock. Cock in its lips, cock in its ass. Nothing matters but cock, because the tool doesn't have feelings. It just turns on and off when it's used. You plug it in and it works.

"Aagh," he hears from below. Berwald is getting close. "Fuck, fuck, yes -"

"You want faster?" asks Braginski.

"Unngh," replies Berwald. "Uh-huh - mmh - yeah -"

Braginski can make it go faster. Braginski controls all his tools with precision. Braginski's hand speeds up on the lever and the tool moves faster on Berwald's cock, up and down, thirsty for the pleasure Berwald's and Braginski's cocks give it, buried inside, that make its gears spin.

Its mouth makes more of the sound. Willem fucks it harder. "Fuck, I hate you," gasps Willem. He takes its head in his hands and fucks its face. His cock plunges down its throat as it is pumped harder, as it bounces on cocks, pistoning in him, its motor whirling. It can't stop, for an object set in motion stays in motion, and this mindless _thing_ is helpless to the inertia until the force behind it acts otherwise.

"I know," says Braginski sweetly.

And as both Willem and Berwald come, more or less at the same time, the simultaneity of the events is obscured by Braginski's hands on his tool, which shudders and spurts and climaxes in Braginski's fist, tightening around Braginski, Berwald and Willem.

A team effort, truly.

Eduard returns to himself, held aloft and boneless in Braginski's arms as Berwald pushes himself out from underneath and claws for freedom. "Yer fuckin' sick," says Berwald.

"Aren't we all," says Braginski, cooing it contentedly into Eduard's ear, as Eduard pants and blinks, come on his lips, on his chest where Braginski has smeared it, and spilling out his ass, his throat newly hoarsened by his cries, with little understanding of where he's been these past few minutes.

"'M fuckin' gettin' outta here," mutters Berwald. "You fuckin' sick prick, so tired'f yer fuckin' bullshit." He takes off without hesitation and storms down the hall.

"Wait up!" calls Willem, who tears after him.

"Don't worry about them," says Braginski, placing a soft kiss on Eduard's temple, brushing his sweat-drenched bangs to the side. Eduard doesn't move in favour of catching his breath. Braginski is hard again behind him. "I have something I want to discuss with you," he says in Russian.

Gently he deposits Eduard on the bed, on his side, naked but for one leg tangled in his jumpsuit and underwear. Braginski reclines next to him, face-to-face, and smiles prettily with sparkling eyes.

"You did well," he says, in Russian again, always in Russian, "I'm so pleased." He leans in and kisses Eduard gently on the lips.

And Eduard's treacherous heart leaps in his chest.

"Now," says Braginski. He backs up only far enough to see Eduard, but doesn't allow any more personal space than that. "I wanted to say something."

"What's that?" Eduard asks, more a breathy exhalation than an utterance.

"I think," begins Braginski, his tone casual and flirtatious, "that what you're doing is very smart. Yes - I see how he looks at you - you've made him love you." Braginski smiles kindly. "That's good. That's quite smart. Have you figured it out, then? As you have been getting so close to him, have you figured it out?" Braginski glides a sly finger up his bare arm.

"What?" Of course he's not that dumb. But what exactly does Braginski think Eduard's been doing?

"That he's a cock-loving bitch, just like you, just waiting for it." He traces whorls and spirals around the ball of Eduard's shoulder, then maps out the tattoo pattern. "He can't protect you," he says with his full lips pursed in a moue, mockingly sad. "He can protect himself - for the time being, until I tell people what I know - but he won't be able to protect you when he's busy servicing nine men." Braginski think about it, his eyes off to the distance as he brushes Eduard's bangs out of his eyes and curls the longest strands behind his ear. "Perhaps we'll start him at nine. He looks like he's had a few before."

"And you're saying this because you're just making idle conversation, or because you have proof?" Eduard says.

Braginski glowers. "I thought you were the one who was supposed to be getting the proof, Edik," he says, punctuating it with a soft tap of his index finger on the tip of Eduard's nose. "Yes, you! Why do you think I keep telling you what I do? You get closer to him than I can. So easily! And then you give me the goods. Yes?"

"You told me that you knew what landed him in here. What was it?"

"Killed someone!" Braginski chirps. Then he seems to reconsider. "Or... did he? Now let us see. No, I have elsewhere heard it that he did no killing, himself. But he's the one who is here! No, the fellow who was killed was no friend of his, but a friend of his stood to gain quite a lot from that unfortunate fellow's passing, and so our friend Berwald - former major in the Swedish army! Did you know? Where do you think those muscles are from? - and our friend took the fall for him." Braginski smiles again, and there is something genuinely soft in his lips. "How sweet! What a gentleman!" The way he says it makes Eduard think this is no act - somewhere inside him there is a healthy respect for Berwald, and his morals. Buried under a fuckton of contempt.

A military man. "And why does that mean he's ... you know?"

"Come now," says Braginski, enjoying himself. Clearly Eduard's stupid questions aren't annoying. He seems to enjoy showing off. Which means Eduard can play the fool to fish for information. "Would _you_ take the fall for your very best friend unless you loved him desperately, with all your heart?"

Eduard thinks of Timo. Well, Timo right now is screwing his wife, so how good a friend he is is debateable, but Eduard must be fair to him, for Eduard himself doesn't really love Katya anymore and hasn't for quite some time. But if it weren't for Katya, would he take the fall for Timo? Not unless it were very, very important! And if it were murder? No, friends are for good but murder is a jail sentence. He didn't want to come to jail for himself when he deserved it, much less for a friend when he didn't. Eduard nods, conceding the point.

"So, what do you think of that, hmm?" Braginski loops an arm around his waist and tugs him closer.

"I think Berwald needs better friends," he says darkly, pressed against Braginski's chest.

"Don't we all. So, my dear. Will you be my eyes on this? My eyes and ears? I know if he lets something slip it will be quite obvious and I think you are bright enough to find it."

Eduard, of course, has a bank of knowledge about Berwald, and all of it is quite damning, and exactly what Braginski wants.

He stays quiet.

Braginski takes his silence in stride and leans in to kiss him tenderly on the lips, craning his head into the kiss to press their lips together. Eduard gasps, and Braginski seizes the advantage of his parted lips to slip in his tongue. For a quiet moment he is suspended in the pleasure of being in Braginski's arms, held and kissed to arousal. When Braginski breaks the kiss, he is panting and hard and his lips are tingling.

"And you know," Braginski continues, whispering it, his mouth spit-shiny red and wet, "if you did not have to worry about pleasing him, one less chore for you, isn't it? If he were something of a pariah, because you used your sexuality, and gave me all that you found, then you shall owe him nothing! Not the time of day, and most certainly not your ass." He grins. "Which is mine," he adds, as he slips his hands from the small of Eduard's back down to his waist and further to the curve of his ass.

Berwald would have no say on him anymore, he realises. "I'd lose his protection."

"Lovely darling," says Braginski, "isn't mine enough? Am I not enough for you? You know, dear, you have but to ask and I would garrote the whole wing for you." He traces a finger lovingly around Eduard's neck, a necklace of shivery sensation in its wake. Eduard gasps. Braginski takes it for disbelief and continues, his expression exceedingly serious. "If you said the word, I would hurt anyone you asked. They wouldn't even have to have done something." He leans in and whispers, "You know how I feel about violence," and takes Eduard's hand and pulls it down to his crotch, to touch exactly how Braginski feels about violence.

"You have my protection, as long as I have your body, isn't that fair?" Braginski says. One hand is buried in Eduard's hair, directing his face up to expose his neck, so that Braginski can kiss it, lathe it, and bite it. The other descends the front of his own jumpsuit, undoing the buttons as it goes.

"Fuck," Eduard whispers, and swallows hard. He doesn't deny his excitement, watching Braginski slowly expose himself.

"Then we have a deal? Yes?" Braginski has reached the last buttons on his jumpsuit, and his cock - hard again - springs free. "You'll get what you want."

Presuming that what he wants is to be out of Berwald's service. Eduard doesn't reply a firm yes or no, watching instead agape and transfixed as Braginski entwines their fingers together and draws his hand closer to Braginski's groin, where he hovers before touching to gauge Eduard's reaction, waiting for an answer.

"But you get what you want first," Eduard replies at last.

Braginski smiles and shifts his index finger back and forth, intimately sliding it against Eduard's. "I always get what I want first, how is this any different from anything we have already done, hmm?" He curls Eduard's fingers around his cock and begins to fuck their joined hands.

"Exactly," says Eduard. "It's no different - you know I already work for you in all but name."

"But now, you work for me more directly," Braginski says. "Only for me. Only ever for me." He tightens their grip. "Because you're mine."

He takes Eduard's hands off him, and positions him face-down on the bed, his wrists above his head. Then he coaxes Eduard's legs apart and his hips up. "Again?" asks Eduard. "Haven't you had enough?"

Braginski gets behind, between his spread legs, and mounts him. One hand on his hip, keeping his ass up in the air, the other on his wrists, above his head, pressing into the mattress and pinning him there. "You'll know when I've had enough," says Braginski. "You don't want me to have had enough." He sinks into Eduard. "Aahh... you're so loose, Edik," he sighs, "I slip right in."

In this position, the head of Eduard's cock drags against the sheets, forward as Braginski presses into him and back again when he pulls out, back and forth, until the friction on the head of his cock has him wet and hard again.

"I think you'll find," he whispers in Eduard's ear from above, his hand clenched on Eduard's hip, "that with me alone - aah - nobody will touch you, and that is for certain."

Yes, but he also has to make sure Braginski never gets tired of him. If Braginski has no one to compete with, then Eduard has to do all the work.

As Braginski fucks him slowly, rocking into him back and forth, he thinks. He thinks as best and as clearly as he can with Braginski's sliding in and out of him, the brush of his body a hot heavy weight at his back. Braginski wants him to collect information on Berwald, and get some firmer proof about Berwald. What Braginski has doesn't sound concrete. In fact, it sounds like an anecdote, so Braginski could not have gotten it from Berwald.

In which case, he got it from someone else. Not Kris, or Braginski would like Kris more than he does, and he doesn't. Then there must be someone else out there who knows this story about Berwald and who told Braginski. Since Willem didn't tell him, Willem doesn't know about it - Willem who loves gossip - it must not be a rumour, which means this person told Braginski alone, in confidence, and up until now, he's kept it confidential.

Braginski must only know the vaguest details about this story, about Berwald's apparent crime. He's deduced that Berwald himself wasn't capable of the murder, or at least wasn't the one to do it. But even if Eduard can get Berwald to confirm that he is innocent (which Eduard strongly suspects, as Braginski does), that's not enough to prove that Berwald necessarily did it for someone that he loved - and moreover, a _man_ that he loved.

But if Berwald _is_ military, why would Braginski think Berwald didn't commit the murder? Killing is a soldier's business.

"Why is it you think he's innocent?" asks Eduard. "Because you were told so?"

"I don't believe everything I hear. But it fits. He's too nice to you," hisses Braginski. "He takes pity on someone who is so pathetic, who deserves none. You deserve exactly what you get." He takes the shell of Eduard's ear in his mouth and bites down hard on the helix, his lips soft around the skin. Eduard pants, shifting back onto his cock, and tries to keep thinking.

Moreover -

\- he moans softly, his thoughts interrupted as Braginski pushes in harder and presses up, making contact with his prostate again, and while Eduard is still sensitive and raw it tears through him like lightning and his mouth runs away from him, betraying how much he loves this, how good it feels; he moans and whines louder, incapable of being silent, and Braginski grips him and forces his hips up to fuck him at that angle again and again -

\- moreover, Braginski doesn't have any knowledge of Kris and Berwald, or why they're at odds with each other. If Braginski knew anything about Kris, he would have used that on him long ago, because Braginski doesn't like people he can't manipulate, and this would make Kris easily manipulated. So if Braginski knew about what happened between Kris and Berwald, he'd use it now against Berwald.

He must not know.

If Braginski knew what happened between Berwald and Kris, and had confirmation that he took the fall for a lover, then he could arguably have enough to exploit Berwald. Eduard has one of those cards in his hand. He needs only the other. To do that, he must make Berwald fully trust him.

"What will you do for me, then," he asks. He rocks his body backwards to fuck himself on Braginski's cock. "Big, strong, - ah! - powerful man," Eduard gasps, "is there no influence you have to help him trust me?"

Braginski groans his pleasure. Eduard shifts back and he groans again. "Doesn't he trust you already?" pants Braginski.

"Not entirely," he replies. Braginski moves, curling up and around Eduard so he can fuck him harder with sharp stabbing thrusts. His mouth is at the nape of Eduard's neck and he bites down hard. "Ah, _please_ ," moans Eduard.

"I can exert a little push here and there," gasps Braginski, "drop hints to select people to ... encourage him to trust you, convince him you are trustworthy. Will that do, Edik?" he coos, and the hand on Eduard's hip slips to his front, shyly splaying his fingers wide and _almost_ touching his cock. "Is that what you want?"

_You know what I want, you monster_ , thinks Eduard, desperately rutting against the mattress and fucking himself on Braginski's cock. "I-I'll do my part - mm, please - as well, of course," he pants.

Somewhere beneath the haze of lust there is still a coherent thought left, and this thought is as follows: Braginski seems to think Berwald is already in love with Eduard, and was surprised he didn't already trust Eduard. Braginski doesn't understand what love looks like, doesn't understand anything about love.

Well, what a surprise.

But he keenly understands sex, and lust, and desire.

Braginski bumps up again, against his prostate, his hand dangerously close to Eduard's cock, and for a moment Eduard cannot see straight. When he can, he finds he's babbling: "fuck me, please, do it, fuck," he moans, aching to come.

"And in return," says Braginski, "you'll give me what I want to make him go away?" He obliges Eduard not by speeding up but by inserting himself fully and keeping himself there, the head of his cock twitching inside Eduard, pushing in and pulling out a fraction of an inch, fucking him deep. Beneath them, trapped between Eduard and the bed, Braginski traces a slow line with a single finger from the root of Eduard's cock to the head, smearing the wet around the glans. "He has been enjoying my property for far too long. It's time for people to start enjoying _him_."

"Yes, _yes_ ," babbles Eduard, "anything, please, fuck me, hard, please, let me come!"

"Anything?" murmurs Braginski at the nape of his neck.

"Aah, _please_ ," he sobs.

"I like you begging me," whispers Braginski. He wraps his hand around Eduard's neglected, tortured cock and fists it a single time before Eduard spills onto his mattress, jerking himself back onto Braginski and coming.

"I like you begging me _a lot_ ," he says. He pulls out and backs up, then aligns his cock on Eduard's ass, and grabs the two cheeks to hold himself between. He frots himself there three or four times before Eduard hears him grunt out his completion and feels the hot gush on his back.

"Never forget that you're mine," says Braginski softly, and then gets up off the bed. He leaves the cell, and Eduard - still panting - begins to think about what he's said.


	12. Chapter 12

Eduard plans to do some thinking after Braginski leaves. But as he cleans himself up, feeling completely disgusting and horrified (this incident has left him bleeding, and he prays it hasn't left him incontinent as well), he first has the sensation of eyes upon him. He looks up to find the men in the other cells staring at him again with pity. Eduard ignores them as best he can.  
  
If he gets Berwald to tell him exactly what it was that landed him in here, then Eduard will have enough for certain to hand Berwald over to Braginski.  
  
If he wants to.  
  
Although he said he would.  
  
Yes, because Braginski forced him into it.  
  
Yes, but it's not so great a stretch to assume that Braginski doesn't like liars. Eduard said he'd do it, so now he has to, and moreover he has witnesses.  
  
Although, that exchange took place in Russian. Does anyone here speak it besides him and Braginski?  
  
Eduard plods over to his bunk and puts his jumpsuit back on. Then he draws closer to the bars and to the men watching him - with half pity, half hunger, for his jumpsuit isn't done up all the way - he sneers in Russian, "Piss off, all of you. Bet you love it. Bet you love the sound of it, the sound of your master getting off, pleases your fag ears to hear him come, hmm? Bet you'll be dreaming of his hard cock tonight, giving it to you deep, screwing you so hard you feel it in your throat from your ass so he comes out your mouth and you can swill it on your tongue like wine, then swallow it back again."  
  
They weren't kidding about _mat_ , thinks Eduard. The kind of thing you'd only ever say in prison. He feels like washing his mouth out. If Katya could hear him now!  
  
But they give him the same gormless look they always do and only one of them really reacts, a tall man with broad shoulders and arms but stick legs. "Fucked the poor bitch so hard he forgot a language!" he remarks, and the others laugh.  
  
They definitely can't speak Russian. Even if they spoke a little, they would've reacted.  
  
Then... they don't know what Eduard agreed to. Only Eduard and Braginski know. Which means Berwald is safe, for now.  
  
The way Braginski spoke, though... he was incredibly, beautifully possessive. Had he always been like that? It seemed before he was ambivalent where Eduard was concerned, and made only vague statements of ownership, but now he seems to care. A _lot_.  
  
Oh, Eduard is a liar if he says he doesn't like it. Braginski finally showing some ownership. That means Braginski wants him, doesn't it?  
  
But if Braginski wants him at the exclusion of Willem or Berwald - as he has always seemed to, he dislikes their intervention more intensely than he wants Eduard - then that puts Eduard at a disadvantage.  
  
If Eduard needs Willem or Berwald, that is.  
  
Maybe he doesn't. All these men are so terrified of Braginski alone.  
  
_I think you'll find that with me, nobody will touch you._  
  
Braginski must have been referencing the incident where Sadik pinched his ass. He must have spoken with Sadik to find out about it, then, because nobody else was watching at the time. Eduard hadn't mentioned it. And Willem certainly wouldn't've mentioned it. Not of his own volition, because that would make it look like Willem's influence was growing feebler, and Willem is smart enough not to give Braginski an in like that.  
  
Then again...  
  
Willem seemed more distant, today. Maybe Braginski forced it out of Willem.  
  
Could he? Willem is, if not a full match for Braginski, willing to take him on at the leastest prompting, as he has. If those two were to duke it out, Braginski might win, but if he did, it would be a tough fight. Braginski doesn't pick challenges for fights. Eduard is willing to hedge bets against Braginski on his laziness alone. So Braginski is - wisely - wary of Willem and the threat he represents.  
  
He's warier still of Berwald, which is why he's gone after Berwald first. Firstly, he has more ammunition against Berwald, and secondly, he perceives Berwald as the greater threat.  
  
(What irony! When all along, every six months, there's a magazine that Willem hides under his mattress that could utterly defeat him. And Braginski _doesn't know_.)  
  
Then that quietness of Willem, his seething hatred of Braginski - which seemed so much more palpable earlier today than it usually was - must be something else. Braginski must have forced him into something that he can't get out of.  
  
Eduard concludes that Braginski must still be planning something. That thing with Berwald just now, when they both fucked him, that was nothing.  
  
(Nothing, he thinks bitterly. Didn't feel like nothing.)  
  
What could it have been for? Punishing the fact that Eduard was the one to invite Berwald behind the sheet-as-curtain? No one was around to know that Eduard had initiated it, and Berwald wouldn't've spilled. So Braginski could not know of that.  
  
Talking with Lovino? It could be. But Eduard suspects that Lovino is smart enough that when he says something is confidential and meets in private, that it is truly private and that he's warded against eyes and ears. After all, it does Lovino no good to be seen meeting privately with Eduard. And Eduard who put himself on his knees, looking up at Lovino - it made a very telling picture. Braginski would _murder_ him - both of them - if he knew.  
  
Then - that was Braginski taking advantage of a situation, to get Berwald out.  
  
So he could speak his peace in Eduard's ears alone. And he hid that under the veil of another language, moreover.  
  
If this is what he does to take advantage of a situation, what does it look like when he's plannned it?  
  
And perhaps Willem's ire towards Braginski only helped serve to get Willem out once Berwald scarpered, because Willem knows he needs an ally and what better one is there than Berwald, who hates Braginski now that much more and is strong enough to help Willem?  
  
Yes, Braginski wanted him alone to discuss those things with him. Braginski is pre-emptively striking against Berwald, without realising that Eduard has already gotten to Berwald.  
  
A point in Eduard's favour: Braginski doesn't think him smart enough to get to Berwald first. Instead, he lays it on thick for Eduard, as though Eduard is incapable of perceiving a manipulation when it's thrust upon him (or into him, as the case may be).  
  
Well. It's good for Eduard to find out what happened with Berwald, anyway. Braginski has a point there: if he trusts Eduard enough to share that story, then he must be to some degree smitten.  
  
And smitten is exactly what Eduard wants him to be.  


* * *

  
  
The following day begins so benignly. Eduard makes it through nearly the full day of work without trouble. After work will be dinner - his stomach is already grumbling - and then straight into lockdown. Everyone today has avoided him, which pleases him greatly. Over in the corner the guards are talking angrily with one of the other inmates, but it doesn't concern Eduard so he ignores it and gives the chipboards his full attention.  
  
Until he notices two shadows flanking him. He looks up. On one side is Sadik, and on the other, Beilschmidt, who Lovino called Gil and Willem called Gilbert.  
  
"Kiddo!" says Beilschmidt, quick and panicky, "what say you come take a walk with us on the wild side, hm?" He grins wide, and Sadik's face splits into a matching leer.  
  
"Yeah... I'm fine where I am," Eduard says, and looks down the table at Willem.  
  
Willem looks up at the two of them, then at Eduard, then returns to his work in front of him.  
  
"Askin's a formality," Beilschmidt continues, and then he snatches up Eduard's tray of components, the one he has been working on, and upends it over Willem's. He wriggles the tray - his hands shake - and the last few resistors plink down and bounce by Willem's wrists.  
  
Willem... does nothing, and continues working.  
  
Why isn't he reacting? Eduard has a sinking feeling about this.  
  
"You assholes know I'm protected," he says.  
  
"You're out of parts," is all Beilschmidt says in reply.  
  
"Yeah," chirps Sadik, "guess you're gonna hafta go get more."  
  
They must know by now that this is the exact game Willem played months ago. From the looks they keep throwing Willem - it's back and forth from Eduard to Willem's snarl, from the set of his lips to the way he won't lift his head - they're counting on it.  
  
Which means that if he gets up to fetch more, Eduard knows what's coming.  
  
"No," he says. "He'll return me the parts you stole. I'm not getting up."  
  
Beilschmidt leans close to Eduard's ear and whispers there, "Or what? He'll beat me up? I don't think so! I think I can do whatever I want with you, and he's gonna let it happen. Because he's a weak, spineless little coward who doesn't understand the ranks and the chain of command."  
  
This last bit Eduard is certain that Willem can hear, because he freezes, his hand poised with a single chip, and the moment lengthens until Willem breaks it, by continuing his action. He places the chip in its correct place, and then he gets to work with the soldering iron. He looks angry - his jaw is clenched and a muscle twitches with strain in his cheek - but he continues working.  
  
Beilschmidt cackles, mad and high-pitched in his ear. "Get to your feet, _slut_ , so we can fuck you in private, or we'll tear a few holes in you now and fuck you in 'em right here. The guards won't thank you for that. It's your choice."  
  
"Willem," growls Eduard across the table.  
  
Willem ignores him.  
  
Only part of Eduard is able to stand - the rest of him is so shocked by Willem letting this happen in broad daylight right in front of him. Sadik catches him under the arms before he falls back to the workbench and hoists him out rudely, in an awkward way with a hard grasp that Eduard knows will bruise. "March," says Sadik, one hand clenched around his biceps.  
  
They lead him away, behind the drawer of parts, next to a closet of green circuit boards, by the machine that lets them cut each to size, which they're not allowed to touch unless they have permission and supervision. In fact, because nobody's scheduled to use it, the guards aren't anywhere nearby. It's the same place where Willem fucked him the first time.  
  
The workroom is less a lab and more a warehouse, but somehow, with Eduard hidden from sight by boxes and cupboards that have created something of a small alcove, with the guards on the other side of the room, their attention elsewhere, and with each prisoner not wanting to create a disturbance - it has never felt so large.  
  
"Alright, kid," Sadik says, and whirls Eduard around to face him, then puts a meaty paw at his collar and rips the jumpsuit open. The buttons rain onto the floor. Sadik shoves his hands inside. "We got some rules: you scream, we beat you. No point in it anyway, the guards'll punish you for causing trouble by making complaints, and they'll punish us for causing trouble, full stop. And if they punish us, we'll be mad at you. And you don't want us mad at you."  
  
"Stop this," Eduard hisses, trying to block Sadik's movements, but it's hard, he's strong, and he has the advantage of height and weight.  
  
Beilschmidt, nearby, scouts out, looking for something. He spots it - a camera, in the upper left hand corner by the wall, aimed at the cutting machine - and leaps up onto a table to tape a piece of paper to it. "Awright!" he says as he hops back down - how does he have so much energy? - "I figure we got about thirty minutes before Laurinitis gets off his lazy ass to do anything about that." He turns to Sadik. "Why the fuck isn't the bitch naked yet?"  
  
"Can you not see how squirmy he is?" snaps Sadik, who has only been able to wrestle the jumpsuit off Eduard's shoulders. Eduard fights him with every tug; with every movement he tries to twist out of it. His wrist has already felt the effects of fighting; it's probably sprained. "The fuck you think I been doing?"  
  
Beilschmidt rolls his eyes. "Fer fuck's sake," he says. He approaches, and then it's two on one. Eduard gives as good as he gets - it's all he can do - but he's overpowered by two people who are stronger than him and who seem to be all hands.  
  
Sadik fixes his arms to his sides as Beilschmidt gets handsy with the front of his jumpsuit and pushes it to his waist. Then he grabs the orange _and_ his underwear and pushes both past his hips, beyond the swell of his ass, ripping the stitches on his underwear, straining the elastic, and revealing his genitals. "Stop," Eduard hisses again. "Get your fucking hands off me," but neither listen. Sadik flips him onto a table and bends him over it, holding his wrists at the small of his back. Beilschmidt peels his jumpsuit down to his ankles and over one shoe, and then kicks his feet apart. Eduard is naked from the waist down, bent forward and exposed.  
  
And Willem just let them take him! Willem - he must know what they would do! What is this? Is this a stage, will he come in at the eleventh hour and rough them up and free Eduard?  
  
He won't let anybody take Eduard, will he? That was the deal!  
  
What about Berwald? What about Braginski? Won't Braginski be mad?  
  
All that possession Braginski now keeps talking about. Braginski will be livid.  
  
(Against them, right? Not against Eduard?)  
  
"Braginski's gonna kill you!" says Eduard as Beilschmidt picks him back up and pulls him against his chest, threading an arm between Eduard's and his back to yank his arms backwards, so tightly his shoulders protest. Behind him, Eduard hears the click of Beilschmidt's belt being undone.  
  
"Mmm, nobody's mad if they don't know," says Sadik. He shoves his fingers inside Eduard's mouth. They taste salty and dirty. "So keep quiet, mmkay? Be a good boy," he cajoles mockingly, "and it'll all be over soon!"  
  
Eduard tries to bite down but Sadik takes his other hand and forces Eduard's teeth apart. " _Nice_ try. You bite down, you're gonna have a helluva lot more explaining to do. Think those guards wanna explain blood all over the place? So be nice, and just take it. You're good at that, aintcha?"  
  
Behind him, Beilschmidt caresses his backside appreciatively. Then he shoves his cock - naked, hard and hot - betwen the cheeks of Eduard's ass and even though he knew where this was headed, Eduard is nevertheless for the moment too shocked to do anything. This can't be happening! Here, and now? With these two?!  
  
Braginski isn't so bored of him yet, is he? He remembers Lovino telling him about Braginski being bored. He remembers Braginski telling him he'd know when Braginski had had enough, that he didn't want Braginski to have had enough. Would Braginski cast him aside to the rest of the people in here? Is this what's happened?  
  
But Beilschmidt and Sadik are being far too quick about this. If it were the case that Braginski had let it known that he'd had his fill, and the rest of the jail could have Eduard, could do what they liked with him, then Sadik and Beilschmidt wouldn't be so covert, so shifty. They wouldn't've done it at work. Right now Sadik looks over his shoulder at every noise, and Beilschmidt is already thrusting between his legs, smearing his excitement between Eduard's thighs. No, they want this to be quick. Wouldn't they take their time if they knew this was something they were allowed?  
  
Still, the thought that they would do anything Braginski didn't like is surprising. Lovino said so - those two are beholden to him. Beilschmidt goes to solitary for him. they wouldn't dare move against Braginski -  
  
"The fuck you doing, douche-lips?" snarks Sadik. At first Eduard thinks he means him, but it's Beilschmidt behind him who tuts.  
  
"Takin' his ass!" says Beilschmidt. "Hey, you got anything? I don't like it burning."  
  
Sadik purses his lips. "You want to use _my_ lube so _you_ can fuck his ass."  
  
"It's not your lube! You stole it from the switch drawers!"  
  
"You're not getting his ass," Sadik says.  
  
"Well, I want his ass!" Beilschmidt retorts.  
  
"What are you, some kinda queer?"  
  
"His asshole don't got fuckin' teeth! It was _my_ idea, _I_ get his ass, and that's that!"  
  
Sadik shakes his head. "It wasn't your idea worth shit! It was Brag-"  
  
Both immediately shut up, and look at Eduard.  
  
A- _ha_. Eduard feels his heart sink faster. This is not just with Braginski's permission, but rather, this is Braginski's _doing_. He has not just assented to this. He has planned and orchestrated it.  
  
"You don't get his ass. _I_ want his ass," decides Sadik, changing the subject.  
  
Beilschmidt holds out his fist over Eduard's shoulder, where it shakes inches from Eduard's cheek.  
  
Sadik looks at it. "You're fuckin' kidding me," he says flatly.  
  
"Rock-paper-scissors, motherfuck! Get your fist out!"  
  
Sadik looks at the fist, then looks at Eduard's mouth. "Don't. Bite," says Sadik sternly, "or I'll fuckin' bash your head in, I don't give a fuck about Braginski."  
  
They decide it with rock-paper-scissors over Eduard's naked shoulder. At this point, this situation has reached an apex of absurdity.  
  
Eduard can't see the full outcome, but he watches as Sadik's face lights up and he crows, "That's fuckin' right! Eat _shit_. Turn him 'round, his ass is mine."  
  
"Aw, man!" whines Beilschmidt.  
  
Sadik bends him forward onto the table, with Beilschmidt on the other side of it. One of Sadik's hands is wrapped around Eduard's wrists, held fast to the small of his back, and both of Beilschmidt's are on top. He's pinned - he's helpless - he can't do anything.  
  
Sadik does a quick job greasing him with something. What, Eduard isn't sure - it isn't real lube and if what Beilschmidt said can be trusted, it was nicked from the cabinet and is for greasing electrical switches. Eduard knows what kind of projects that's used for because his software engineering degree included some basic hardware courses. But those aren't the projects they do here in the jail. It could be years old, and it's not the kind of thing that should go inside the human body.  
  
Beilschmidt crouches down to look him in the eye. "Now look," he says, shaking a finger in Eduard's face, "you bite down, I will beat you 'til you retch it up. You got that?" He springs back up and his bobbing, bouncing cock is suddenly in Eduard's vision, then its head is pushing against his lips, as Beilschmidt pulls Eduard's hair back to lift his head up so that he can better insert himself into his mouth.  
  
Sadik gives him no stretching, however, and no sooner has Beilschmidt gagged Eduard on his foul cock does Sadik brutally force his way into Eduard's ass.  
  
It hurts like it hasn't hurt in months. He feels ripped apart, and he knows Sadik cannot possibly be that big but his asshole is already throbbing. It's uncomfortably hot and wet, and Eduard doesn't think that's all lube. "Ffff _fuck_ , he's so fucking tight, how can he be this tight with all the fuckin' riding he does?" groans Sadik.  
  
He thinks as best he can in this position, his head craned back to make a straight line for Beilschmidt's cock and his legs spread to make one for Sadik's. His arms are still pinned, held back at the wrists by one of Sadik's big hands, the other one squeezing his hip. He feels like a skewered pig. This is what they must mean by 'spit roasting'.  
  
On to what he had been thinking earlier. Braginski may have planned this, but Beilschmidt and Sadik are still being covert. Sadik's fucking him quickly, jackhammer thrusts and sharp jabs that don't help his aching ass. In front of him, so too is Beilschmidt sped up, bucking almost uncontrollably into his mouth. They shouldn't be doing this at work, but if they had Braginski's permission, they could theoretically do it anywhere. Why at work?  
  
Because it's the only time they're all together in the same room at work. Willem, too. But they already got past Willem with Braginski's help. And who isn't here? Braginski -  
  
\- _and Berwald_ , Eduard realises.  
  
They know that if Berwald knew about this, he'd slaughter them both. Braginski gave his assent, if covertly. Did Berwald? Eduard has a tough time believing that he would.  
  
There's a thin edge of pleasure that he can't quite reach. Sadik's thrusts behind him almost feel good by now, and Eduard has always liked being used at both ends, he can't help it, it's become such a fantasy, and he's surprised how much the roughness appeals to him. Though he isn't aroused - it's still too painful - he shivers.  
  
But then Beilschmidt slips one hand out of his hair and around his neck to fuck his face. It's almost a caress, until Beilschmidt whispers gleefully, "Think I can fuckin' feel it in your throat?"  
  
Before Eduard has any chance to prepare - if he even could - Beilschmidt has plunged himself past the back of Eduard's mouth and down his throat, with his other hand squeezing around Eduard's neck to feel the outline of his cock inside Eduard.  
  
He chokes reflexively, unprepared - nobody's used him quite like that - he didn't realise how lucky he's been with Willem, who - compared to these two! - is a considerate blowjob recipient, or Berwald, who wouldn't hurt a fly. He gags and almost retches, but he keeps it back down. Beilschmidt retreats, though the mercy in the action is mitigated by his snapping, "I didn't say retch on my cock! Can't you fuckin' deepthroat at all? Way Willem crows about you, you've got a golden fuckin' tongue!"  
  
"You were _strangling me_ ," hacks Eduard, through coughs, "what'd you expect?"  
  
"Tch. Not my fault you can't take it a little rough," says Beilschmidt flippantly.  
  
Behind them, Sadik keeps pace, really getting into it with fast, deep, and painful thrusts that Eduard hasn't managed adjusting to. Sadik himself is not helping; his movements are dragging Eduard back and forth across the table. Whenever he pushes Eduard too far along it, he grabs him by the hips and yanks him back on his cock. Eduard has the uncomfortable warm feeling that a rash is building on his chest, where he is poked in several places with what he expects are splinters. He's soon going to look as beaten as he feels, if he doesn't already.  
  
"You're an idiot, y'know?" groans Eduard. Sadik snorts and speeds up. "The both of you. If you leave bruises and marks, the way you're going about it, you think Braginski won't notice?"  
  
Beilschmidt smirks nastily above him. "Hope he does. Consider this a transaction! Your bruises the receipt."  
  
"And what about Berwald? He tell you you could do this too? He'll beat you up just as bad as Braginski will. He wasn't too happy about what I did with Kris and he likes him more than he likes either of you!"  
  
Beilschmidt sours, and Sadik stops, plugged in deep. A moment of reprieve that Eduard wastes, because he can't think of relaxing and all he can bear to do is lie there, throbbing around Sadik's cock.  
  
"No, he said he was takin' care of Berwald!" says Beilschmidt hastily.  
  
"You fuckin' sure?" Sadik doesn't sound sure. "'Cause that guy's a berserker, I just know it."  
  
"Sure I'm sure!" No one says anything about how Beilschmidt's panicky voice cracks partway.  
  
Sadik speeds up again fucking him, he pulls out a minute later and groans softly. Eduard feels something wet and warm on his back. "'Kay, let's get out of here."  
  
"Not so fast," says Beilschmidt. He vaults over the table - how has he got so much energy?! - and lands between Eduard's legs. In a heartbeat he's aligned himself up to his asshole and thrust in to the hilt.  
  
"Oh, you like the sloppy seconds, eh?" sneers Sadik.  
  
"I couldn't fuckin' come thinking about those teeth, jesus shit!"  
  
Sadik walks around the table with a predator's gait. He squats down - his jumpsuit open from the waist down, his dick hanging out and smeared with blood - and says to Beilschmidt, while leering into Eduard's face, "If he bit down, he'd be a fuckin' dead man. And he _knows_ that."  
  
"Y-yeah," says Beilschmidt, huffing and bucking, "but I'd already be a eunuch!"  
  
"Idiot, eunuchs have no balls. What's the word for a guy with no dick?"  
  
"I believe it's _Beilschmidt_ ," croaks out Eduard, into Sadik's face.  
  
Sadik laughs. "I like this kid!"  
  
But Beilschmidt doesn't. "Oh, we got a _wise-ass_ ," he says, and scoops an arm around Eduard's neck to lift him up to a diagonal, to fuck him harder. He releases Eduard's wrists for it and they fall, pins-and-needles and nearly useless, to the table to keep him propped up unless Eduard wants all his weight at his neck against Beilschmidt's arm. Now it straight up hurts. Whatever interest Eduard might've had in these proceedings is gone. "Good thing you're tight even after you're used. You really do make the world's best bitch."  
  
Eduard says nothing.  
  
Beilschmidt slaps him upside the head. "C'mon! Put a little _back_ into it, hmm?" he grunts as he thrusts. "An ass like this and you don't play it up any? You could at least look like you're enjoying it, 'cause we all know it's what a bitch like you loves. Or don't we all catch you caterwauling every time they touch you? Heard you were a fuckin' freak, don't you like this shit? Do something!"  
  
"Acting is extra," snaps Eduard bitterly, "whatever you paid Braginski, you can't afford the theatrics."  
  
Sadik adds, "You really want him moaning like a cat in heat? He'll attract attention. Just fuckin' come already and let's finish and go! C'mon, Gil."  
  
"I-I'll take as long as I take!" complains Beilschmidt. "Longer with you watching me!" but Eduard feels the way his hips shake. Beilschmidt isn't exactly truthful about that. "Less _you_ like to watch," he adds eagerly. "His mouth is free. You could take him again."  
  
Sadik looks like he's considering it, but he checks the clock. "There's no time. We oughta get back to work or they'll come lookin'. It's almost end of day."  
  
So Beilschmidt does all the work, lifting and holding Eduard in place so he can rut into him and shove himself in and out. Eduard does nothing but lie there, half propped up on the table, half suspended by the throat, taking it, waiting and silently pleading for it to be over.  
  
Finally Beilschmidt pulls out and fucks the space between his cheeks, pressing one close around his cock, as he grunts and groans his way to orgasm, shooting hot on Eduard's lower back where Sadik's come has already cooled. He lets Eduard go, and Eduard collapses onto the table.  
  
"You _do_ fuckin' like to watch," says Beilschmidt, as he does himself up.  
  
"You give yourself too much credit," Sadik sneers. "We're fuckin' done here?"  
  
Beilschmidt mutters, "Yeah." He looks over at the clock and smacks Eduard's rear. "Kid can make his own way back."  
  
Finally, Eduard is left alone. Lying face-down, his tingling hands useless at his sides, hanging on the table by his weight alone, his legs jelly, his jumpsuit strewn around his ankles, the garment tangled around one shoe, his back stained, his chest aflame, his backside exposed, his ass bleeding.  
  
It takes a few silent, suspended moments for him to put himself back together.  
  
That was - that was more along the lines of what he's feared, since he got here. _That_ was violent, and _that_ he can be honest with himself: _that_ , he didn't want any part of. And it wasn't just the physical pleasure. Of course he didn't get any. Of course he didn't get aroused the way he usually does with Braginski, or Berwald, or Willem.  
  
Are those consensual as well? Perhaps only by some definition.  
  
But this was - this was clear and defined, this was - this wasn't supposed to happen to him.  
  
They did it because they could. Because they had the power. Physical power. And there was nothing about the threats of Berwald or Braginski (or Willem - hell, Willem _watched them_ cart him away) that could do anything.  
  
Eduard reaches behind with his better hand and wipes up what he can off his back, then smears it on the underside of the table where nobody will see. He tumbles to the ground, falling hard on his ass. It takes a few minutes to sort out the topology of his half-ruined jumpsuit. His back is still sticky when he puts it on, keeping it closed by belting it tighter than he normally does.  
  
He returns and sits down gingerly at the workbench. When he begins to ache too much he rocks from side to side on his ass, and nothing helps except that his underwear feels wet. He knows it's blood.  
  
Should he tell someone? But who can he tell? Willem already knows. Braginski already knows. Berwald, on his own? Sadik and Beilschmidt together might be able to take him, and if Sadik and Beilschmidt were joined by Braginski, there would be too much threat. And alas, Berwald is wise enough to know that, to look out for himself first. No, Berwald would not lift a finger. He's smart enough not to stick his neck out for anybody unless it will obviously profit him.  
  
What profit could Eduard represent?  
  
Maybe, if Berwald loved him. Isn't that what Braginski said Berwald must've done once? He got in here - did something incredibly stupid - out of love.  
  
No, that's a rumour. Eduard can't trust a single thing out of Braginski's lips.  
  
And Berwald doesn't love him. And he won't, once he hears about this. Berwald won't want to touch him ever again.  
  
Better that Eduard give Berwald up to Braginski, then. Strike while the iron is hot.  
  
Eduard feels like crying.  
  
Who could Eduard tell? He's the bitch. They expect shit like this to happen to him. It's anomalous that he has bodyguards, but it's pathetic and ludicrous that he actually believed they would work.  
  
What an idiot he is. He's never felt so helpless in his life. Alone and helpless.  
  
 _His fault for riding,_ he hears them say.  
  
His fault.  
  
The rest of the work day is only ten minutes. It passes in a complete daze. Eduard goes through periods of complete disbelief - did it really happen? It couldn't have. It shouldn't have. Maybe it didn't. Braginski wouldn't've let it.  
  
But then he shifts from side to side and the pain blooms anew, and he hears the snickers of others, and that's how he knows. It happened. Of course it did. Because he's the bitch. It's nothing personal. Just the way of things. They must be laughing at him. Because it's funny. Because it happened.  
  
He knows he should do something, anything to defend himself, even if he'll lose, but what can he do? It's all of them against him now, and his bodyguards are either useless or in on it.  
  
His fault for riding.  
  
He should never have thought about this crazy, insane idea. Bodyguards! What nonsense. He should have fought back from the start. But he did fight back, he fought just now - but not hard enough. Should have fought harder. Even if it got him injured. Better than this. Better than used and abused, a hole to fuck that men pass around and take off to the side when nobody's watching to fuck him dry.  
  
That's what will come of him now. Berwald won't want him. And Willem ... Willem seems to be under Braginski's influence, if indirectly. Then Braginski decides who will have him and Braginski alone will have him until Braginski gets bored. And he will. And then he'll pass Eduard around for pennies.  
  
But what could Eduard have done? At any point? Braginski has had this all sketched out from the moment he got here! Who knows. Maybe Braginski is to blame for why he's even in this particular penitentiary, and not another upstate, where there are no Braginskis.  
  
But that's foolish, for there are men like Braginski lurking everywhere.  
  
So what could Eduard have done?  
  
Nothing.  
  
At the end of the workday, they all file out, but someone grabs his arm and pulls him away past the corner, down another hall.  
  
It's Lovino. "You're comin' with me," he says firmly, and Eduard is too frenetic - a strange mix of upset and numb - to disagree.  
  
Lovino says nothing as he drags him by the arm through the halls. "Where are we going?" Eduard says at last.  
  
"I'm takin' you to the doctor," Lovino snaps. He barely looks behind and tugs Eduard on. "Sadik told me what happened, an' you're fuckin' lucky he did, otherwise I wouldn'ta known. What the fuck were you gonna do, go back to your cell? and what, cry about it? without seeing the fuckin' doc? are you nuts?"  
  
He sounds angry. "Why are you angry?" says Eduard. "There was nothing I could do!" Does Lovino not think he tried to fight back?  
  
"That's why I'm fuckin' angry," Lovino replies. At last they reach a doorway and Lovino stops. "I don't know why they did that, but it has to do something with Braginski. They _would not_ have acted against him without his consent. So he must have given it. The question I wanna know is, why?"  
  
"How should I know?" laments Eduard. Lovino angry at him is the last straw - this has him near tears, and Eduard hasn't cried since fourth grade. He is _not_ crying now.  
  
"You idiot! Don't you see how this all ties into Braginski? You're supposed to be paying attention to the things that tie into him!" _You idiot_ , he says - Eduard nearly shatters. "Look. I guess I don't blame you, 'cos I don't see how it all fits together just yet either. But you're smart. You should be looking for these things. You should be paying attention."  
  
"Smart didn't help me not get raped," says Eduard, and Lovino flinches. Eduard's heart plummets faster than he thought it could be possible. Lovino's saying it's his fault this has happened to him. Of all people to say it, Lovino. He thought Lovino - perhaps not cared, but - understood?  
  
Perhaps cared. Perhaps a little?  
  
Lovino turns back to Eduard. He looks torn. He doesn't make much eye contact with Eduard and shifts from foot to foot. "Listen, Eduard," he says, "I-I didn't mean it like that, but - y'gotta be careful. You can't be a moron with that guy! And you can't let your guard down. Ever!"  
  
Eduard narrows his eyes. "Do you think I of all people don't know that?" he says softly.  
  
It seems to make Lovino realise that what he's saying is incredibly hypocritical. Instead of apologising, Lovino changes the topic. "These are for you," he says, thrusting out his hand. Eduard takes it. It's condoms, six of them, attached together.  
  
"Where the hell did you get these?" breathes Eduard. "I could've been using them all along instead of putting myself at risk!"  
  
"Plucked 'em from the vending machine when the fellow was by servicing it. He was crouched and couldn't see me, and the dumbass guards they sent along with him looked the other way for two secs. Wasn't hard. Distraction's half the trick, the rest is sleight of hand. It wasn't hard," says Lovino again, defensively, which means it was actually pretty difficult.  
  
"Why condoms?" he asks. Of all the things that vending machine sells - socks, snacks, candy, pencils, paper, envelopes, bandaids, stamp singles - he took the condoms.  
  
"Tch. You kiddin' me? These things are built not to fuckin' break, you know how useful a resource that is here? But you need 'em more than I do. Speakin' of, hide that shit in your shoes. Let nobody see 'em."  
  
Eduard sours, but complies. "I've been going without for so long," he says, as he straightens upright again.  
  
"Yeah, but now your only value to van Dijk _or_ the Ox is those. Without 'em, the only one who'll touch you is Braginski. D'you want that?"  
  
That's true. And that's exactly what Eduard had deduced already. He thinks about the prospect of being dependent on Braginski alone and shudders, then shakes his head. "I haven't got any smokes with me."  
  
Lovino shrugs. "Whatever. So you'll owe me one."  
  
It sounds so flippant. But Eduard does, he really does, he owes Lovino a lot, when he thinks about it, because he's been sticking his neck out for the bitch for some time now, trading with him for lube - or whatever else he needs - supplying him with information, even just helping him out with Italian so that Eduard has something to do in this place, to take his mind of his incarceration or his whoring, so that he doesn't go insane and hang himself.  
  
Taking him to the doctor's office, providing him with condoms, and giving him something against Braginski - it doesn't help Lovino's profile. If anybody finds out about it. "I won't tell anyone you were here," he says.  
  
Lovino watches him carefully for a second but it is obvious to him what Eduard means. "Good," he replies, and ducks down another corridor out of sight.  
  
Three minutes later, Willem turns the corner. He looks very concerned.  
  
Swift on the heels of the shame and angst he felt at Lovino's reaction is anger, pure hot seething rage.  
  
Eduard could shoot his stupid cellmate in his stupid face and since he doesn't have a gun, it's his fists clenched, begging for the taste of Willem's mouth. A hook across the jaw, an elbow to the nose, then he'd knee him in the groin, then push him to the floor, then he'd climb on top and he'd rail and he wouldn't stop until there was blood on both of them, Willem's and his own on his knuckles. Only the sliver of fear that Willem could overpower him (could he, though? Eduard is _so very mad_ ) keeps him pinned in place.  
  
"You _knew_ ," he says, "you knew what they were going to do to me and you let them take me away."  
  
"I don't wanna talk about it," says Willem, pointedly not looking at him. He bangs his fist on the door they're in front of.  
  
Eduard growls, "What, did they give you cash to look the other way? You cheap asshole -"  
  
The door opens. A man is on the other side, in an old lab coat, beneath which is a shabby shirt with plain tie, tucked into jeans. He's blond with faded blue eyes and his listless hair is long and wavy and curls at the end. He looks like he could be exceedingly attractive, but this place has drained the colour of him and with it went any spirit.  
  
"You are very loud," says the man, primly accented. "You must be Tam-zahr?"  
  
"Tamm- _saare_ ," Eduard corrects, grinding it out from between his teeth.  
  
"Doc Bonnefoy," says Willem. He shoves Eduard forward. "He's the one with the appointment."  
  
"Very well," says the doctor. "Keep in mind that in the future I prefer twenty-four hours notice, not twenty minutes. You are lucky I was still here. It is the end of the day." He moves aside enough to permit Eduard to limp through. Willem makes to follow and the doctor bars his way. "I do not have any appointments for _you_ ," he says nastily.  
  
"You fuckin' do now," Willem snaps. "Lemme through." He pushes his way past.  
  
The doctor offers Eduard a seat; he remains standing, which hurts less. Eduard explains the situation, because according to the doctor, Willem's word is no longer acceptable - they appear to have a tetchy history, these two, and Dr Bonnefoy is frigid at best in his demeanour towards Willem. To be honest, Eduard isn't certain why Willem came. Guilty conscience? It's a bit late to develop one. But Willem remains a silent, angry fixture in the room, and Eduard is the one who must put it into words.  
  
The words are hard to come at first but fall more easily from him the longer he speaks. Throughout the entire explanation - which takes no more than thirty seconds - Dr Bonnefoy remains impassive. Once he looks Eduard up and down, and then he raises a single eyebrow as if to say, 'it's obvious what happened to you. Just look at you.' But aside from that, his face doesn't change and he doesn't look pitying, not even sympathetic. His eyes look dead and his expression is neutral, desensitised.  
  
How many people has Braginski done this to, again? Eduard finds himself wondering. How many bitches did it take before the last fucks Dr Bonnefoy gave about any of them expired? Maybe when a person works in a place like this long enough, they don't care anymore.  
  
"Well," says Dr Bonnefoy at last, when Eduard has finished. "And this all happened today?"  
  
Eduard nods. "Less than half an hour ago."  
  
Dr Bonnefoy purses his lips, shrugs, and then gestures to the door. "Well, I do not really care. You think you are the only one to whom this happens? You may show yourself out."  
  
"Ex _cuse_ me?" says Willem. "How much of a shit doctor can you be? The kid's been assaulted!"  
  
It's horrifying to hear Willem put it in those terms. It impresses upon Eduard the reality of what has happened to him. And that Willem acknowledges it. On the other hand, it warms his heart to see Willem leaping to his defence.  
  
Of course, that's only because Willem is upset that his favourite toy has been taken away. Can't fuck the bitch without a condom now, and as far as Eduard knows, Willem hasn't got any.  
  
"Yes, and I do not see how that is my problem! What do you expect to do about it?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know!" says Willem. "How about _your job_ for starts? Can't you give him tests? What if those guys gave him something? The last thing you want is an outbreak!"  
  
"An outbreak of?"  
  
"Hepatitis? HIV? Fuck, you're the doc, not me -"  
  
"Precisely! I am the doctor, _not_ you, and I am throwing you out on good reasons. To say nothing of symptoms, hepatitis will not show up on tests until at least a week, to a maximum of three weeks; and HIV may not show up until twelve weeks after exposure! What do you want me to do for him now?"  
  
"You can't fuckin' see he's in pain?" Willem yells.  
  
Again Dr Bonnefoy rolls his eyes. " _Voici_ ," he turns around and fishes out a keyring from his lab pocket, then opens a drawer in his desk. He selects a bottle, opens it and dumps out two tablets. Then he strides angrily over to Eduard, grabs his hand and shoves the tablets inside. "Paracetamol. You may have some water. That is your pain. If you require more, you will fill out an application form _and_ once processed _and_ if granted _then_ you may line up like the rest of them when I arrive at ten AM, and you shall receive your dose. Now get the hell out of my office."  
  
Willem folds his hands over his chest and stands, his feet a shoulder-breadth apart, at the door, barring anybody's egress. "I thought there was some kinda kit you people do on people who have been assaulted," he says.  
  
"Why would I do a kit?" asks Dr Bonnefoy archly. "You have already told me who your perpetrators were. A rape kit is for DNA purposes."  
  
"They could deny that they did it," argues Willem.  
  
"Tch! those two?" Dr Bonnefoy retorts. "They shall crow about it to whoever listens. And if for some reason they do not, then what will you do with the information that you already know? After all, why do you want this knowledge public? If they are quiet, you should take it as a hint. Is it not in your better interest to shut up?" He sneers. "Why, I should _greatly_ prefer it."  
  
"Just do it!" barks Willem.  
  
"It's a waste of money," Dr Bonnefoy replies.  
  
"Alright, listen, asshole," says Willem, and now he gets threatening and stalks over to the doctor, upon whom he has about five inches of height and a lot more muscle mass. "This is what you do when someone's been assaulted. You look them over and you make sure they're not torn so bad they got a new hole to shit out of, then you're gonna book him another appointment in three weeks for those tests."  
  
"Fine," says Dr Bonnefoy, and he puts on a pair of latex gloves with a nasty _snap_. "Are you not satisfied? What are you doing still here?" he asks to Willem, who has not budged. "Wait outside."  
  
Willem shakes his head. "I'm gonna stay here to make sure you do your job, because I know you don't like to do your job."  
  
"I like my job just fine, thank you very kindly," Dr Bonnefoy sneers.  
  
"I doubt it," Willem says derisively. "At any rate, I know you hate the patients. So I'm gonna stick around and make sure you're doing what you should."  
  
Willem looks over to catch Eduard's eye. Willem seems concerned; perhaps he is also intrigued to see how badly Eduard got damaged. Or whether he can conserve any part of his toy.  
  
Dr Bonnefoy examines his more superficial injuries first - he removes three splinters from Eduard's chest and shoulder, and he judges the wrist swollen but not sprained; the ligament has extended beyond its usual flexibility but not so greatly that it has torn, or if it has, it is insubstantial. He pokes the marks on Eduard's throat thoughtfully. Eduard can see himself in the mirror over Dr Bonnefoy's shoulder - they are red now. "These will bruise, I think," the doctor says. He does a quick check on Eduard's mouth. No lacerations, but he plucks a single white hair, wiry and tightly curled, from between Eduard's teeth. The two of them share a look of disgust.  
  
Then he has Eduard undress completely - Dr Bonnefoy eyes Willem at this point, but Willem still does not leave - and climb up onto the table on all fours and bend over and hold his cheeks apart.  
  
There is some uncomfortable probing around - after a single digit, Dr Bonnefoy realises that he's bleeding, and this seems to spark at least some level of sympathy in him. He returns with a little cotton and continues his probing, then brings the light over.  
  
"May I suggest you eat nothing that will upset your stomach or constipate you for the next two weeks," Dr Bonnefoy says at last, after a lot of probing, and after having smeared most of the contents of a tube of antibiotic ointment around the rim of Eduard's anus. He sounds a little sorry. "Do not further aggravate these injuries. You have managed without significant tears or prolapse so far. I should not like to see you with either of those." He gives Eduard a brief and grim but not wholly unkind smile, a shaft of light piercing grim skies.  
  
Eduard leans back on his heels. Dr Bonnefoy scrutinises him carefully and seems surprised. "You haven't given up hope yet," he murmurs. Then the shaft of light passes behind a cloud and his smile disappears. "I have."  
  
Eduard says nothing, spellbound by the frankness. "You may redress," says Dr Bonnefoy.  
  
As he does, he realises he has to take care to conceal Lovino's stolen condoms in his sock before he puts on his shoes, and this is hard to do with the doctor still watching him. He suspects Dr Bonnefoy is obliged to confiscate contraband if found on a prisoner's person.  
  
"A little light reading?" Eduard calls to Willem, who was left to his own devices, and has opened one of the doctor's drawers.  
  
"Trying to find Gilbert and Sadik," murmurs Willem.  
  
"Those are confidential material and I shall have you thrown out!" says Dr Bonnefoy, who has whirled around and is, for the moment, ignoring Eduard.  
  
Willem rolls his eyes and leaves the drawer, then puts his foot on Dr Bonnefoy's desk and removes from his ankle, in his sock, a fifty dollar bill. Where Willem got that money, Eduard has _no_ idea. "I need to know what they got," Willem explains. "He needs to know what they got. If they got anything." He extends the bill to the doctor. "Three weeks won't be soon enough. It's the least you can do."  
  
"That is a paltry sum," sniffs Dr Bonnefoy. "You gave me more last time when you pulled this trick for Kristiansen."  
  
Willem draws himself up and once again starts the menacing and intimidation. "Doctor Bonnefoy," he says darkly, as he walks over, step by step, "I have no more money to pay you with, but I have the strength of the desperate. Might I suggest that you take the money in lieu of trying your hand with the latter." This is the most articulate Eduard has ever heard Willem be, and it's a little terrifying.  
  
"Fine," says the doctor, and pockets the bill. "Such is doctor-patient confidentiality in a place like this, anyway, goodness knows your brutish cellmate rifles through them whenever he likes," he mutters to himself, and he begins flipping through his files. He selects two folders from another drawer.  
  
"Both had hepatitis," Dr Bonnefoy says, "Adnan a year and a half ago, Beilschmidt a year ago. Beilschmidt also gave himself tetanus three years ago and then contracted blood poisoning and needed a transfusion. Stupid man."  
  
"Yeah, he doesn't think when he's high," Willem mutters.  
  
"He does not think, full stop!" Dr Bonnefoy counters. "Despite that, neither have tested positive for HIV."  
  
Eduard lets out a sigh of relief he didn't realise he was holding. He has been living under an umbrella regarding the sheer danger of his role here at the prison. He's lucky his cellmates didn't have anything. He's lucky the tattoo artist didn't have anything. And now the people who assaulted him don't have anything. This is a lot of luck, and it's probably going to start running out soon. "So then?" he asks. "What are my chances?"  
  
Dr Bonnefoy shrugs. "Minimal. Given that neither of them ejaculated inside you while you had open wounds, and given that they are not currently ill, as of their last test - which was six months ago, however -"  
  
"Oh, they're still using," Willem mutters. "Jittery idiots."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"I should hope not!" says Dr Bonnefoy. "There is a chance. But it is slim. Nevertheless, you will be back here in three weeks to the day and time."  
  
Dr Bonnefoy books the appointment as they leave.  
  
The halls are suspiciously quiet. They pass by the cafeteria and the lights are off. They've missed dinner. It only now impresses upon Eduard how very hungry he is, now that the shock of his assault has worn off and the worst is over, and he's had the best news he could have: probably, he's fine.  
  
"What the fuck are you two doing out of your cells?" asks a sharp voice. Both Eduard and Willem turn around. A guard approaches, Eduard's height, dark hair and bright green eyes, and while he looks like he could be friendly under another circumstance, this is not that circumstance.  
  
Lockdown must've started without them.  
  
"Relax," says Willem, "he was at the doc's. It took longer than we had expected, that's all. Just send us on our way and -"  
  
"I don't think so!" the guard interrupts hotly. "Let you roam around here unsupervised after lockdown?"  
  
"- or you can come with us. I don't really care."  
  
"I'm gonna write you both up is what I'm gonna do," says the guard.  
  
Willem sneers. "You're gonna do nothing of the sort, Asparuhov, 'cause that's Braginski's bitch right here. Don't you think he wants his property back?"  
  
The guard - Asparuhov, and if Lovino was correct then he is one of the guards under Braginski's influence - sours but agrees with a stiff nod.  
  
So Asparuhov walks them back to their cell, and when in, unlocks them, and shoves them in, then locks it behind them. "See you in two days," he sneers.  
  
"Ah! Boris," calls a voice. Braginski vaults off the top of the bunk and says in Russian, "Thank you so much for bringing me back my lost little sheep. It's very kind of you."  
  
Asparuhov's face sours again and he smiles with a nasty twist of the lips. "Keep a closer watch on 'em, Shepherd," he mutters wryly.  
  
Braginski presses his face between the bars and leers at Asparuhov. "I shall endeavour to."  
  
The guard slinks away, and after the door to their wing opens and closes to permit his exit, Braginski turns around.  
  
He looks livid. Eduard's heart begins to pound.  
  
"Why are you angry?" asks Eduard. Hadn't Braginski had wanted this! Hadn't he planned this? Isn't that what Sadik and Beilschmidt said?  
  
"Why am I angry?" Braginski explodes. "Why _wouldn't_ I be angry!" He jabs a finger Willem's way. " _He_ took what was mine and used it to pay off his debts!" So that's what Beilschmidt meant by 'transaction'.  
  
"Ed's not all yours," Berwald adds.  
  
"You keep out of this!" yells Braginski.  
  
"But -" Eduard doesn't understand - "they said that you -"  
  
Braginski backhands him with a loud _crack_ , so hard it spins him around. Behind him, Willem slinks away to his own bunk. So much for support and solidarity. "If you believed them, then you're more gullible than I had thought!" Braginski shouts. "What kind of idiot must you be to have thought that? I said I would protect you, if you were mine. Do you think running off to leap upon the first cock you see is appropriate? You have endangered yourself in the process!"  
  
No, that doesn't make sense! Sadik and Beilschmidt would have done nothing if Braginski hadn't sanctioned it. But Braginski's fury is terrifying and Eduard cannot find the words except to stammer, "But I - but I didn't -"  
  
"Besides," Braginski continues, "who knows what diseases those two have! Now we can't use you until you're proven clean! Don't you have any idea how annoying that is?? If you aren't clean, you're worth nothing to me. So why bother protecting you, hmm?"  
  
Eduard's heart stops. "Y- you can't!"  
  
Braginski folds his arms. "We shall have to wait and see about it."  
  
"I - it wasn't my fault! I had no choice!!"  
  
"You always say that, you have no choice!" Braginski shouts. "Me, I think you had plenty of it, I think you choose these things because you _like_ these things. I think you want to be used so badly you don't care who it is. Well, I will teach you to whom you belong - and it's not to him," he says, pointing to Willem, the proverbial dog with tail between his legs, sitting sadly in his bunk, "for he has lost his privileges to you permanently!"  
  
"Hey, says who?" says Willem.  
  
"Says me," says Braginski.  
  
"Says me too," adds Berwald.  
  
"What?" asks Eduard.  
  
"He put ya in danger. Din't we say we'd keep ya outta danger?" Berwald sounds angry, but his face is no more threatening than it ever is. W' didn't, so way I see it, if we can't pr'tect you at th' time, we get first dibs on r'venge."  
  
"You don't dare hit me, Berwald," says Willem.  
  
"I don't hafta," Berwald says.  
  
"Yes, he could break a _nail_ ," Braginski interjects in falsetto.  
  
"Why bother dirtyin' m' hands? Th' damage is done. Yer gonna pay fer it like this. No more 'f him. 'S what y'get, Will'm. Y'don't like that, shoulda thought 'f it b'fore y'went an' dug up debts."  
  
Not all of what Berwald says is illogical. In fact much of it makes sense. Willem has been useless these past few days - between Sadik smacking his ass and he and his friend assaulting him, Willem did nothing but watch. 'If he touches you again,' Willem had said, 'tell me and I'll take his hands off.' So much for that!  
  
But it was Willem who got him better care at Dr Bonnefoy's, when the doctor was prepared to throw him out. With Willem there, he got at least basic care after an attack and the doctor booked him an appointment for tests! And what horrible limbo he would be in if it weren't for Willem's forcing his way into the medical records! Three weeks of not knowing whether his body were riddled?  
  
 _There is still a chance_ , he tells himself.  
  
But if neither of them have had anything at least as of six months ago, it's possible - and they didn't come inside him - it's very likely he's okay.  
  
He wouldn't know that if it weren't for Willem.  
  
But he can't send any support Willem's way when Braginski sounds like he's gonna shoot something and it might be Eduard himself. It makes him so angry that Braginski thinks it was _his_ fault when Braginski should know better than anyone how much things have been his fault since the moment he came here!  
  
Make no mistake, this _is_ Braginski's fault! Somehow. Eduard hasn't worked it out yet, but he will.  
  
And he's exhausted and starving and this makes him irritable and impatient. He wants to lash out against Braginski for all that the latter has done to him in this prison, and he knows that a smarter way is to play a smarter game ...  
  
But right now, he is too taut for clear-mindedness.  
  
That is when Braginski notices him. "Oh, come now, _dorogoy_ ," he says in pouty false sympathy, "don't look so sad. Do you miss his cock already so much? Do you not realise how much better it will be?"  
  
Eduard can't help it. He shoots his mouth off. What's Braginski going to do, smack him again? Rape him again?  
  
"Right," he spits. "Only you. Isn't that what you want?"  
  
Braginski narrows his eyes. "You know very little of what I want," he says cryptically.  
  
"I know you want me to the exclusion of all others - and don't lie and tell me I think too highly of myself -" for Braginski's face makes it clear he was about to say precisely this - "that means _you_ ," Eduard points to Willem, "and that means _you_ ," and he points to Berwald. "He's got Willem squared away proper now, hasn't he? Which means the elimination is in process!" He takes a step forward to Berwald's bunk and looks him in the eye. "You'd better stay alert -"  
  
But before he can finish his thought Braginski grabs him about the neck with one arm - a headlock - and clamps his other hand over Eduard's nose and mouth. Trying to suffocate him? Not quite. Trying to silence him. In Russian, Braginski hisses, "That's not what we had agreed. Yell at him some more! I invite you! You think he will tell you anything after that? My dear one, you're not thinking clearly, let me help you help us both -"  
  
Eduard whacks his head backwards into Braginski's giant nose. Then he stomps on his foot and drives an elbow into his gut.  
  
He gulps in a rush of air as Braginski releases him, and finally he can breathe again, but it doesn't last long. Braginski grabs him by the collar, the back of the neck of his jumpsuit, and drags him back, throwing him into the massive concrete slab jutting out of the wall that forms the frame of Braginski's top bunk. Braginski's too strong, and Eduard's too light. Only at the last minute does Eduard throw his hands out and save his skull from cracking into the concrete.  
  
"At this stage already!" says Braginski, dusting his hands together in self-congratulation, "they always go through a period where they try to fight me. It's no problem. I quite enjoy the ride." He leans over and grabs Eduard's jumpsuit by the neck, then rips it open again - it's easy, it has no buttons anymore and hardly stays closed - and shoves it to his waist.  
  
He can't - he can't possibly - he just said Eduard had no value to them until they could prove him clean -  
  
"Ah, don't worry, I always am prepared," he sneers. "I prefer without - like everyone, except for _Swedish Safety_ up there watching us - but sometimes you get a bitch who's especially filthy! I shall have to use protection for myself." He throws Eduard by his ripped clothes towards the ladder to his bunk. "Now get up there or I will throw you up! And I warn you, I don't bother with aim."

  
  
Eduard climbs fast, more out of fear than desire, for Braginski is hot on his heels and angrier than hornets, his face red and his nose bleeding. As Eduard chances a look back, Braginski licks the blood off his lips, and grabs the material at Eduard's waist and pulls it down, made easier as Eduard ascends. So again Eduard is naked from the waist down, his jumpsuit tangled around his ankles, and he trips face-down into Braginski's bunk because of it.  
  
Braginski is next up into the bunk and yanks Eduard by the shoulder perpendicularly, to lie across rather than along the bed, his head over the slab above the floor. "Move a bit further up for me," he says, "you know I am big and take up a little more room." He spanks Eduard hard, sending him scooting forward until he's bent over the bunk, his pelvis at the edge of it, and everything from the waist up dangling over the side of the bunk, held up only by his hands, gripping the concrete slab for dear life.  
  
Eduard had been afraid of heights before, but that was such as atop a building, or a tower, not held suspended at less than a man's height. But then Braginski spreads his legs and enters him in a single cruel thrust, and Eduard teeters forward, pushed along, as the pain is so great that he can't manage enough purchase on his grip to counteract it. It hurts _so much_ , whatever wounds had been scabbing over and healing are ripped open again and it feels twice as bad. The only lubrication is the ointment Dr Bonnefoy had applied around and inside his anus - no longer functioning in its cooling or soothing capacities - and the feeble amount on the condom he heard Braginski allude to, the ring of which he can feel when Braginski pushes his fat cock in completely. Braginski has never felt so large.  
  
With every thrust in, Eduard is pushed forward and pulled back by Braginski's grasp on his hips, much stronger than the grasp he has on the bunk keeping him aloft. Even through the pain and the sensation of being fucked, the height still has him dizzy. He finds he can't look at the ground anymore.  
  
He catches Willem's eye. Willem is concerned, panicked, horrified - he looks ready to move to catch Eduard. He knows this is because of him and his debts. Eduard looks away.  
  
Berwald, however. Berwald's bunk lies immediately across from Braginski's, suspended above Willem's, on the opposite side of the cell, so Berwald has an excellent seat to this evening's lockdown entertainment. There he sits, calmly cross-legged, and eyes their tableau with a peculiar detachment that ill suits his character insofar as Eduard knows it.  
  
Berwald is mad. He's _furious_. Why? Because Eduard isn't available anymore? because Willem used him as currency again? But part of him, Eduard thinks - Eduard hopes - is angry because there Braginski is, once again, putting his paws all over Eduard, and Eduard, who pleads with his eyes, looking at Berwald, Eduard is in immense pain, is being tortured, right in front of him.  
  
But unlike when Berwald watched Eduard take his cock in his mouth, when Berwald seemed incapable of indifference - when Berwald has his full faculties about him, he can play cold as stone and he does it well. His eyes are ice and he is immovable.  
  
Braginski thrusts in at a bad angle - too far deep, tilted up. It hits his prostate but Eduard is in no way aroused, and Eduard can't stifle a whine of pain. Berwald does not move, but calmly blinks, and reads another page of his book. His eyes return a moment later to meet Eduard's. This is Eduard's only proof that Berwald gives any fucks about him right now.  
  
And Braginski, that persistent demon, keeps hitting his prostate, out of design or malice or even accidental cruelty, for a life of cruelty like his inures one to it until death. His thrusting brushes Eduard's pelvis forwards and backwards over the mattress, and between the friction fore and the stimulation aft, eventually Eduard's body reacts, like the traitor it is. His cock swells quickly beneath his weight, rubbing on the side of Braginski's mattress, the head bumping against the corner of the cold concrete.  
  
Oh, let it, thinks Eduard miserably, if Braginski can manage to bring him off, then let him. Eduard's too tired to fight anymore with anything or anyone, especially not the force of nature that's fucking him. If he can suck some stale joy from this with something as mechanical as orgasm, when the rest of his body feels so abused, then let him have these crumbs of delight.  
  
"Am I enough for you?" groans Braginski. "Am I enough for you now?"  
  
"Yes," sighs Eduard, because he knows it's what Braginski wants to hear, and then " _aah, yes!_ " because Braginski has twitched inside him in the most delicious way, and it feels like the first time he's experienced ecstasy today. He grinds harder into the mattress, his arms straining to keep him up and not plummeting to the ground.  
  
"Then - you don't - mhmm, you don't need _Willem_ anymore, ngh, do you?"  
  
Eduard doesn't reply, only pants.  
  
Braginski knocks into him harder and he nearly loses his balance on the edge of Braginski's bed. "I can't _heeear_ you," Braginski coos.  
  
"I don't!" he gasps, half terror and half pleasure-pain. "I don't, you're right."  
  
"Of course I am," Braginski replies silkily, and strokes a hand down Eduard's side before he replaces his grip on Eduard's hips, to keep him balanced and to better control his movements. "Ahh - I always knew that. And - hmm, yess - do you need anyone but me, truly?"  
  
Again, Eduard doesn't reply.  
  
"Who is it who makes you come, darling?" asks Braginski instead. "Whose cock do you crave? Nngh! Fuck - tell me! Tell us all! Hah - scream it out, go on!"  
  
"Yours - I - I crave yours," Eduard gasps, "it's you -" it's _always_ him - "it's you, aagh!"  
  
And Eduard, with hands clenched so hard his arms shake to keep him upright, feels himself spill. Part of it smears on Braginski's mattress, part tumbles down to his own mattress, and another wayward spurt he hears splat distantly on the floor, as the vertigo mixes with orgasm for ecstasy that drifts into horror.  
  
Braginski speeds up. "Now who makes you come without being touched, hmm?" he sneers. "Your body knows me so well, it knows what I shall give it." Eduard has barely the strength to cling onto the bunk. The ground beneath him seems to approach him fractionally with every thrust. "Enough of this whoring around. You belong to _me_ now. Don't you dare take anybody else's cock until I say so -"  
  
"'Cept mii-ine," sing-songs Berwald softly, his voice perfectly even.  
  
Braginski roars and fucks Eduard harder. Eduard loses his grip on his left hand - the one he thinks he Sadik sprained earlier - and for a terrifying moment he catapults forward, but his right hand holds fast and Braginski yanks him backwards by the hips, hoisting Eduard onto his cock.  
  
An eternity passes as Braginski continues, gloating and sneering about how much Eduard loves it, how slavish his devotion is to Braginski's cock, how his asshole twitches with delight around it, how this shall teach him a lesson not to accept any _lesser substitutes_ \- Eduard suspects a pointed glance is sent Berwald's way, for Berwald breaks eye contact with Eduard for a point somewhere above Eduard's head, then smiles, then resumes watching Eduard's face. Meanwhile, Eduard nearly rubs himself raw against the mattress and Braginski rubs him raw from behind and makes him jolt and shake with every well-placed thrust inside to his supersensitive nerves, before Braginski stiffens and stills inside him, with a single long wavering moan. Eduard's asshole is by now so sensitive that he imagines he can feel the pulsation of Braginski's cock as he comes.  
  
"Good," says Braginski, "and now that I have proven my point, I don't need you," he backs up. Without his grasp on Eduard, Eduard lurches further over the bunk. Then there is a swift blow to his ass - Braginski's foot - but before the pain from the kick registers is the terror in his heart as Eduard pitches forward, then is falling, the ground racing up -  
  
He smashes onto the concrete cell floor hands and face first, most of his weight on his left wrist. It's definitely sprained now.  
  
Willem is there, squatting on the ground, an arm around Eduard's back and a hand on his elbow. "C'mon," he murmurs, "can you get up? are you okay?"  
  
"Mmph," says Eduard. His mouth feels like he's lost a tooth, or maybe cracked one. They're all there - though some are a bit looser - but his tongue is bleeding where he has bit it. His glasses are bent out of shape, and one of the lenses is cracked.  
  
"Are you touching the bitch?" asks Braginski imperiously. "Have I not warned you against touching the bitch?"  
  
"Hm. _I'll_ allow it," interrupts Berwald. "Will'm, continue." Opposite, Braginski growls.  
  
"So glad I have your permission," Willem hisses lowly, so low that only Eduard can hear him.  
  
Braginski tuts. "If I find you have touched my bitch again, I will rip your cock off," he says.  
  
Willem ignores them both. "Sorry," he says to Eduard, "I didn't think he'd kick you off. I didn't get here fast enough."  
  
"Ironic when you normally come so quick," Braginski says.  
  
Something else falls on Eduard's face - the condom. He looks up at Braginski, who laughs. The come inside it spills down Eduard's cheek, and with disgust, Eduard peels it off his forehead, and throws it aside.  
  
Then he wipes his face off, smears it on the ground, and with Willem's help, gets to his feet and staggers over to the toilet. Strange. Willem doesn't concern himself until he's paid, and at the moment he doesn't know about the condoms Eduard has. As far as all Willem knows, Eduard no longer presents as value, because he's out of commission until the tests come back negative. Is the guilt he must feel really that strong?  
  
Braginski certainly is laying the possession on thick tonight after a performance like that, thinks Eduard, as he wipes the rest of the ointment from the doctor off, so that he can be dry enough to sleep. (The toilet paper confirms it, as did the condom; he is bleeding again. Not profusely but more than he was before, enough to be concerned.) Funny that Braginski should do so, when he sent his goons to assault him earlier.  
  
Eduard takes a moment to curl up in his bed, the thin sheet wrapped around him, staring at the wall. He can feel Willem's eyes on him from across the cell. Well, Eduard's not moving - Willem can watch his back. _For once_.  
  
How has his life led to this? He gets assaulted, then he gets assaulted a second time and he comes from it? What's wrong with him? He really is the bitch Braginski advertises, isn't he?  
  
What has Braginski done to him? Is this - conditioning? Is this the environment? Devoted to cock - what nonsense - but he thinks now of the prospect of having to suck one of his cellmates off and his mouth waters. But if it's them, he's used to it. And they might be kind, lend him a hand. And a very deep part of him likes his services being appreciated. What if it's all true?  
  
No! That's his stomach talking, he's just salivating because he's hungry! It can't be true!  
  
He was married once, and even if it had gone sour and had been going sour for months before he thought of committing a crime, he'd had sex with Katya - many times - so he can't be what Braginski says he is!  
  
But even he said it to Berwald: he was a lot of things before he came here - and Eduard in jail is a different person than Eduard out of jail. Does that mean that by the time he's finished in jail there won't be anything left of the man who came in?  
  
Of a sudden the tattoo on his arm catches his eye, and the words jump out at him. _The martyr dies, the reign begins._  
  
Braginski wants him to have these thoughts, he wants Eduard to give up hope. _I haven't given up hope yet_ , he thinks.  
  
Perhaps Braginski wants him to be so appalled by this talk - so terrified by threats like Beilschmidt and Sadik - that he has no choice but to accept Braginski as his protector, because only Braginski does the job. And it would fit with the way he talks about Berwald - trying to get Eduard to perceive him as likely gay, therefore manipulatable, and therefore useless.  
  
And why has he done this? So that he can have Eduard all to himself? Is Eduard such a prize? Ridiculous! No, there has to be more to it.  
  
He could be proving a point. But to whom? Was there something Willem did to piss him off, that Braginski must react like this? But even if there was, Berwald has done nothing except be secretive. So why his ire is directed to both of them, Eduard doesn't know. The only reason he can tell is because they both have access to his bitch.  
  
Which is a loss of control, perhaps. Eduard is not fully controlled by Braginski, and Braginski doesn't like that. That would make sense. Braginski never wanted Eduard so badly until he realised he had to share.  
  
Why Willem first? One would think that Willem was the harder target. After all, Braginski knows more about Berwald than he does about Willem. Perhaps Braginski simply seized an opportunity.  
  
Who knows what diseases those two have, said Braginski. Oh, but Braginski knows. Braginski knows because he influences them, and Braginski knows because he intimidates the doctor into showing him. Unless that 'brutish cellmate of yours' that Dr Bonnefoy said referenced Berwald, but somehow, Eduard thinks it unlikely. Berwald doesn't deal in information, he's just quiet and takes it all in when it comes his way.  
  
What debts were these of Willem's?  
  
They must have been to Sadik and Beilschmidt. Those two must've decided that they would only accept a turn at Eduard as payment. But would Willem have sold him off to settle his debts? Willem must've known that news would get back to Braginski. It did with the tattoo business and Kris isn't in Braginski's pockets the way Sadik and Beilschmidt are. No, Willem wouldn't be so stupid. Besides, why would Sadik and Beilschmidt ask for something that they knew was completely off-limits?  
  
They must have been granted permission, or given notice somehow, from Braginski, that exploiting Eduard for Willem's debt resettlement was even an option. That explains why Braginski knows about Willem's debts.  
  
Again, if that's the case, then Braginski has known about this for awhile. And his anger tonight is at least partly feigned. Braginski's assent took place before Eduard's assault.  
  
But this is a gross mistake on Braginski's part, unless he doesn't realise Eduard is smart enough to work it out: how did Braginski know about the debts? How did he know about the assault? The only way he could know about the assault is if Braginski has already been to talk to Beilschmidt or Sadik at dinner, and found out the story from them then. Eduard will have to ask Berwald about this later. (If Berwald is even talking to him! Maybe Berwald is angry with Eduard too.) Someone who was at dinner could verify. He'll ask Lovino later.  
  
Then, lastly... if the debts are to Sadik and Beilschmidt... it's likely drugs, because those two use. Which Willem knows, because Willem said so - _jittery idiots_.  
  
And how would he know? He's not friends with them.  
  
Either Willem provides them drugs, or Willem holds drugs for them. Willem doesn't seem to use himself. He may have, once - it would suit his character given someone who gets so jumpy and cagey with lockdown. Given the way that Willem, Lovino, and also Dr Bonnefoy talk about Sadik and Beilschmidt, those two cannot be trusted around drugs without using them, so the prospect that they're the dealers is unlikely. But Willem - Willem could be their provider -  
  
\- and that would explain why Willem has a fifty-dollar bill and access to cigarettes and lube and other contraband items that he could only get through trading.  
  
But the question remains, how did Willem get into these debts? Eduard doubts highly that anybody would give money up front for drugs in advance. Certainly not Beilschmidt or Sadik. Then Willem must have been holding the drugs for one of them -  
  
Everything comes together rather quickly for Eduard.  
  
Of _course_ he was holding them! Look who went to solitary recently - Beilschmidt! And on whose orders? Not by choice, said Lovino. Braginski orchestrated Beilschmidt's stint in solitary without Beilschmidt's cooperation. And then he got a message to Beilschmidt via Kirkland. _To say what?_  
  
By that point, the drugs must have gone missing. Either Willem used them - unlikely - or sold them to someone else - also unlikely, unless he knew he could replace them before Beilschmidt got out of solitary a week later - or someone took them from him.  
  
And who would have the access to Willem's cell, where he would have hid Beilschmidt's drugs, but a cellmate?  
  
There is a single common denominator of deliberation in here: Braginski.


	13. Chapter 13

When they finally leave lockdown, it's lunch two days hence. Eduard seizes his chance and gets in line behind Lovino. "Can we talk?" he murmurs in Italian under his breath, as he reaches nearer to Lovino to grab a bowl. "And, I'll need more lube."  
  
"Later tonight, eight-thirty, just before head count," replies Lovino, out the side of his mouth. "Same place. Bring smokes."  
  
That night at eight-thirty, Eduard slips past a guard when his back is turned down the hall to the doors to the rec yard. He brings his last pack of smokes, which makes it the last time he can meet with Lovino. The thought of that makes Eduard's heart sink.  
  
"How are you?" asks Lovino. Eduard whirls around - he can't see him - "In here." A hand leaves the safety of shadows to wave in the cool light of dusk outside.  
  
Eduard sits next to him, and has to cuddle in close for both of them to be in shadows. Lovino doesn't seem to mind. "Getting better." He hands Lovino the cigarettes. "Thanks for everything."  
  
"Don't mention it," says Lovino, pocketing them. "Ever, to anybody." He reaches inside the ankle of his pant leg and pulls out a small tube, then hands this to Eduard. It's still warm from Lovino's body. Eduard conceals it in kind, tucking it into his sock and pulling his sock up his calf to keep it there. "So. What'd you want?"  
  
"I need to know if Braginski said anything to Sadik or Beilschmidt, that day that they ... went after me. At dinner."  
  
"You keep callin' him Beilschmidt. He's not a fuckin' guard, he needs no respect. You can just call him Gilbert, y'know. Or idiot-breath, that works too."  
  
Eduard shakes his head. "He's too close to Braginski."  
  
Lovino sighs. "Nothing happened at dinner," he says. "Braginski sat at his table. He ate with Berwald, then he took off. Sadik and Gil were at another table. They didn't talk. They never come close when he's with the Ox, I think they're still afraid of him. But hell, Sadik barely made it through dinner, and Gil fell asleep in his stew. They looked so exhausted, neither of them could eat, let alone walk the paces to Braginski's table, even if they wanted to. Either you tired 'em out, or they have no fuckin' stamina." A beat, as Lovino pauses. "I think maybe both."  
  
Then no conversation between Beilschmidt and Sadik, and Braginski, took place at dinner. Then there's no way that Braginski could've known what Beilschmidt and Sadik had done to him. "Did anybody else know that - that they went after me?"  
  
"Not 'til Braginski fuckin' exploded in his cell, start of lockdown. Rumour mill's still talking about that one."  
  
"How did it start? I missed the first bit, was late to lockdown."  
  
"Yeah, we heard about that. When lockdown came and your cell was missing two, they sent up an alert on the guards' radios. Guards went away to try and find you, Asparuhov found you two first, radioed in that he'd found you by the doctor's office. Braginski heard that much and decided Willem had done something - nobody in here likes that shit doc, why else would Willem be there if he weren't guilty - and he knew that Willem owed Sadik and Gil, and he knew what Sadik and Gil wanted for payment. Braginski puts it together, Berwald eggs him on - then you two show up, and the rest, you know."  
  
Lovino takes one of the cigarettes from the box. He can't light it without giving away their position in the shadows, but he fiddles anxiously with it between his fingers. "Talk says he fucked you over the bunk in mid-air and then kicked you off it."  
  
"Talk's right," Eduard says flatly.  
  
Lovino stops fiddling. "Talk also says you mighta deserved it, 'cause you winded him and made his nose bleed first." He smiles. "You're brave."  
  
"Stupid," says Eduard.  
  
Lovino shakes his head. "Brave," he murmurs.  
  
Eduard feels the movement from Lovino's body, pressed alongside his, as Lovino tucks the cigarette behind his ear. He blushes warm, thankful for the cover of shadows.  
  
If nobody knew what happened between Eduard and Beilschmidt and Sadik until Eduard came back to the cell... then there's no other way around it: Braginski could only know because he had a hand in orchestrating it.  
  
"How'd you get it out of Sadik?" asks Eduard. When Lovino doesn't reply immediately, he elaborates, "When you took me to the doctor's. You said that Sadik had told you what they'd done."  
  
"He's not as bad as he seems," says Lovino.  
  
"And Beilschmidt?"  
  
"Also not as bad as he seems. And not nearly as dangerous! They're just - stupid. And high most of the time."  
  
"High on?"  
  
Lovino looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes that have pity, desire, and misery in them. "Heroin," he says at last. It's clear from his face that this was Lovino's own vice, once. Then he sobers and says acidly, "If they can get it. Crack if they can't. Neither of it is any good, either. Probably laced with who the fuck knows. If they have both, they'll take both."  
  
Eduard sours. "That's dangerous."  
  
Lovino shrugs. "Sure it is. Gil's a hit or two away from serious brain damage. He doesn't care anymore."  
  
"What does Willem use?"  
  
"As far as I know, he doesn't, anymore."  
  
"He deals, doesn't he?" Lovino doesn't reply, but his silence is telling. "Does he still have both? When he's providing it for others."  
  
Lovino shakes his head. "It's become way too hard to get heroin in here. If he exchanges anything, it'd only be crack." His hands have started to shake. "I don't know how he does it. Being around that shit and not - not touching it. Having that kind of control. If I had what he had I couldn't trust myself not to take it all in one go and be out of here." Suddenly, Lovino looks up at Eduard and narrows his eyes. "You better not be asking me this so _you_ can get your hands on some. You're too fuckin' smart for that drug shit. You know better."  
  
"I'm not," replies Eduard. Lovino's probably correct about what Willem has. But Sadik and Gil's symptoms don't match what Eduard knows of crack - a classmate of his who was known to take it did so to stay up all night to study and finish work. So minutes later, at dinner, Gil and Sadik fall asleep?  
  
But he won't ask anything more about drugs. Lovino's hands still tremble, and his leg has begun twitching next to Eduard's. "When did you steal the condoms?" Eduard asks instead.  
  
"Few weeks ago," Lovino replies, "why? They expired?"  
  
Eduard shakes his head. "Just curious. He always come the same day?"  
  
Lovino shrugs again. "Everything's on a sliding schedule here. Lockdown, rec time. S'why sometimes we get two in a row. I think it's the same. So, it's not always a Tuesday, but always three weeks in between. Just like food delivery. Always five days in between. Though, food is to the day. I don't think the vending machine guy works weekends."  
  
So if something happens every 21 days, and something else happens every 5 days, how long will it be before they sync up? Least common multiple, so - he factors in his head - that's 105. Every 105 days, the food is delivered at the same time as the vending machine is serviced. Well, barring weekends.  
  
But he's just making conversation until Lovino stops shaking. Finally, Lovino's leg stops twitching against his, and there's one more thing Eduard needs to know. "Did you make the appointment for the doctor's?"  
  
Lovino looks away. "You can't prove it was me," he whispers.  
  
There's a single doubt still rattling about in Eduard's mind. Why does Lovino do this? Why would he care? Does he care for Eduard, does he want him? Did he know someone who was one of Braginski's bitches? Is that why he's doing this?  
  
Is it guilt? Is Lovino atoning for something, and if so, what?  
  
But Eduard's lips are looser than the doubt's hold upon him. "Here's what I think about what our Russian friend is up to, where I'm concerned," he says in Italian, and then he divulges all his suspicions and theories.  
  
Lovino listens patiently, and at the end of it says, "You _need_ Oxenstierna."  
  
"But -"  
  
"But nothing. Without Willem - and Ivan made that happen - you need the Ox. You can't let our Russian friend have you all to himself."  
  
"There's one problem with that," says Eduard. He breathes deeply and then says, "He's already started on prying Berwald off me."  
  
"How?"  
  
Eduard explains what Braginski has been saying, to manipulate Eduard into manipulating Berwald, in order to cough up some dirt on him. "He thinks Berwald's hiding something," Eduard says at last.  
  
"He is," Lovino replies coolly. At Eduard's narrowed eyes, he elaborates, "We're all hiding something here, in a place like this."  
  
"Well, he thinks he's hiding something that makes him exploitable," Eduard says. "He wants me to find it, and bring it to him, and in exchange, he'll give his protection."  
  
"And have you found anything yet?"  
  
Eduard looks away. "I might have." In Italian, Eduard says, "He thinks Berwald's gay. I - I agree with him."  
  
Lovino replies in like. "If everybody who fucked you were gay, there'd be a lot of explaining to do. 'Specially from Ivan."  
  
"But Berwald's the only one who touches me. Or kisses me." Well, Willem, a few times, and Braginski, as well, but the nature of those is distinctly different, and Lovino knows it, because it was Lovino who advised him ages ago to get Berwald to love him. No, this can't be something Lovino doesn't already know.  
  
"So it's the _how_."  
  
Eduard nods.  
  
"That's a bit hard to prove," Lovino says. "You'd need something less subjective."  
  
Eduard nods again.  
  
Lovino is quiet for a moment, then says, "Ask him about his time in the army. Ask him what Major Oxenstierna did. If he tells you, he's yours. A piece of advice? I'd be very careful how I handled that information, if I were you." He gets to his feet, and steals away from the shadows into the dim twilight, leaving Eduard a scant few minutes to think about things, before he has to get back to his cell for head count.  


* * *

The next work days come three in a row, and they come three days after the last time Eduard meets with Lovino. During those three days in between are rec time, shower and shave privileges, and another lockdown. The lockdown is uneventful. Willem does not even glance at him, and Braginski does him the small kindness of ignoring him, either because he knows what damage he and his friends have done to Eduard, or because he has not yet procured another condom.

Is it Tuesday? Is it Friday? Who knows. It can't be a weekend, because on the first workday, they pass the queue for medications outside the doctor's office at supper time, and the doctor doesn't work weekends.

Eduard has no calendar besides a pencil and the notes section of his teach-yourself-Italian book, and has thus far neglected marking down the names of the days of the week. It is the thirteenth, and it's May, and in three weeks less four days - if that isn't a weekend - they will restock the vending machines, and that's all he knows. For other details, the days bleed into one another.

The second of three work days must be a Saturday, Eduard learns. The queue at the doctor's office is smaller. It contains mostly the diabetics and those who require daily doses. And the one who administers them is not Bonnefoy but a sour-looking female (well-guarded, Asparuhov and two others) with a single long blonde braid and glasses.

He starts to write down these things, these patterns, in the margins of his Italian book, as something to pass the time. To occupy his mind, he thinks about what would happen concurrently and when.

The Sunday work day is a quiet day. Eduard sits across from Willem. Willem does not engage with him all day, not even to make eye contact. _He looks upset_ , thinks Eduard, and then corrects himself. He is subdued, perhaps. But Willem is rarely subdued.

Eduard spends the day deep in thought, mechanically assembling the chipboards.

When Willem finishes his tray of parts, he gets up to get more. Eduard follows him. By now, it may as well be an amusing euphemism. _To be out of parts:_ to prelude a sexual encounter in jail.

But this time, Eduard is the one who pins Willem up against the wall.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Willem hisses.

"You!" says Eduard. "You're my problem!"

"Didn't the Tsar make himself clear? You're off-limits to me." He pushes Eduard off, and unfortunately he's strong enough that it works, even when Eduard has his body weight leaned up against Willem. "Now get gone before someone catches wind of it and sends a message to his royal highness, and I get in shit for it."

"You're not gonna get in shit. You only think he has this large web of control. He controls exactly what he knows and no more. When I act on my own, that's when he gets pissed at me, because he knows that this isn't his doing and he doesn't control it. And he only knows about shit like this if it gets back to him -"

"Exactly why we oughta get back to work," says Willem. "And why I can't be seen with you -"

Willem cuts himself off sharply to listen. Eduard does too, and hears footsteps approaching. He looks around, frantic. The cupboard beside the chest of assorted electronics parts is open, and shelf-less. It contains nothing except for an old machine of some sort, whose use Eduard doesn't recognise, that rests at the bottom of the cupboard and is no taller than mid-way up Eduard's calves. Judging from the way the plug is twisted, it no longer works. "Get in," he says.

Willem does, ducking inside. The cupboard is about a half a foot smaller than he is and not broad enough to admit him completely, so Willem hunches forward and brings his shoulders in. Eduard climbs in after him and, stepping gingerly around the machine, tucks himself inside Willem's slouch, Eduard's back to Willem's chest. Willem is indignant and wants to protest but can't, for as Eduard pulls both sides of the cupboard doors closed, leaving nothing but a thin shaft of light, a guard enters the space where he and Willem were.

Breathless, Eduard watches through the opening of the cupboard doors, as Willem silently fumes behind him. The guard looks around, but must see nothing out of the ordinary, because he departs.

"Nothing gets back to Braginski if you keep quiet," says Eduard again, over his shoulder.

Willem rearranges himself a bit. One arm loops over Eduard's shoulder, the other snakes around Eduard's waist. It isn't meant to be intimate, there's simply no space for one man over five feet tall in this closet, let alone two, and one as broad as Willem. Willem keeps his hands off Eduard as much as the space permits, but Willem's chest is nevertheless warm and solid against Eduard's back.

"He's got his eyes out everywhere. All the guards are in his pockets," explains Willem softly. "If that one sees me here with you, like this, what do you think he'll say?"

"Not all of them," Eduard whispers. "If it were, they would've come looking when Sadik and Beilschmidt took me around here. Looking out for Braginski's property - me - because none of the guards knew, nobody but those two junkies knew, that any part of that whole thing was Braginski's doing." Willem says nothing but exhales sharply, loud next to Eduard's ear in a closed cupboard. "Don't you think so?"

"Sure," says Willem, "somehow, I'm sure, but -"

"But _nothing!_ " Eduard snaps. "It _was!_ And I'll explain it to you. But first I want to know: are you using drugs?"

"What? No!"

" _Did_ you use?"

Over his shoulder, Willem does not reply.

"Be honest," Eduard says. He knows the answer already, but it affords him better leverage if Willem tries to hide anything from him.

But Willem doesn't. "You don't know what it's like," he whispers, miserable. "To be in here, to hate it - I wish I were like Berwald. He fuckin' tolerates this shit with the patience of a saint, but I just - I can't! I can't do it, the walls press in on me, any way I can get out of them, I'll do it, I can barely trust myself."

He sounds like Lovino. "Have you used recently?"

Again, Willem does not reply.

"Willem!" he says in admonishment. This whole plan hinges on Willem being clean! Dealing is one thing, but he can't be so easily controlled!

"I haven't," says Willem at last.

"But you've thought about it." That much is clear.

"I think about it every day. And it's getting worse!"

Good. "Then you _need_ an escape." And Eduard needs something in return of - what he considers - equal value.

Willem snorts. "Orgasm made a great fuckin' escape, but lookit what Ivan made of that, huh?"

"Who would supply you?" asks Eduard instead.

"Sadik's got somethin'," Willem replies. "Apparently you impressed him, so he said I can have some later tonight."

Indulging in the fact that Willem can't see his facial expressions from this angle, Eduard curls his lips in disgust. "Is that the same something that you were holding for Beilschmidt, do you think?"

Willem sucks in a breath. "How the fuck would you know about that?"

"What were you holding for Beilschmidt? Was it crack, or heroin?"

"I - heroin," Willem replies.

Eduard nods. "And what does Braginski deal in?"

"He doesn't," says Willem. Oh? "He doesn't get involved in it. He organises it for guards to look away, or to bring it in, so he makes travel routes easier, but he doesn't move things around, and he definitely doesn't _do_ any." He tuts derisively. "Don't think it'd have any effect on his brain, anyway. He's fuckin' crazy enough on his own."

"This is very interesting," Eduard muses. And not surprising. Braginski's wise not to make himself such an easy target, while also keeping a measure of control over others weaker than he is.

"Yeah, great, glad you think so," Willem replies flatly. "Look. Can I go back to work now?"

"No," replies Eduard. "You're going to sit here, and you're going to tell me why you do this, and then if I like what I hear, I'll tell you what I think, and then we'll build a plan to go forward, so that you can get all the orgasms you want from me, and I can get the smokes that I need to pay for what I want."

"The hell we are! You think I gotta death wish? Even if you do, don't drag me into it! He said if I touched you again -"

"He'll beat you up? For whose sake? Mine?" Eduard asks, interrupting. "He's about as loyal to me as he was to you, and he only pretends to care about sex because he knows it's something you want." He leans back into Willem's space, impressing himself into Willem's chest. Then he puts his hand on Willem's and brings it to his body, flattening Willem's fingers on Eduard's stomach, encouraging him to touch. "You're fooling nobody. You want this. If this is the price, I will pay it. We have a good system, you and I, when it works: you stay sober, and I get what I need. That's fair. I _like_ fair."

Willem's body relaxes around him, but he argues, "Except that you can't count on me being able to protect you because of people like Ivan."

"You give him too much credit," Eduard replies, "and you don't give me enough."

A moment of silence passes before Willem works it out. "Oh my god, you've got something against him. You have something against Ivan."

Eduard shrugs the shoulder that Willem's arm is balanced on. It brings Willem's arm closer to his face, and Eduard brushes his cheek against it. "I might." He turns his head alone, and in profile, manages to catch Willem's eye.

Willem exhales. Their mouths are inches from each other. "Nah, this is still coercion," he says, defeated. "You're not doing this because you want to. You never were. I can't do this. It's for the better anyway - my guilty fuckin' conscience -"

"Oh, so you _do_ have one?" Eduard remarks acidly. Of all the times to feel sorry about the way he's treated Eduard!

"I used to do this shit all the time!" he hisses. "All I ever did, grade six and growin' up, was _deal_ , and I turned good kids like you onto them too so I could turn a buck offa them, so I could get higher. It's why I'm here, 'cause three of them died and it was me who gave them the mix they were on when they OD'ed! And now this is just like that, I helped turn you into a whore, because _I'm_ fuckin' weak and _I_ needed to find a high so I found one in your ass or your mouth, and _don't_ tell me you went along 'cause you liked it all the time, I'm not that dumb, and now you sit here tellin' me that we should continue? As far as you're concerned, you're done with me, you don't need to whore yourself out to me anymore, and I'm no good to help you anyway. So what the fuck is wrong with you? 'Cause I refuse to believe I am just _that good_ at sex that you come crawling back for cock that Ivan isn't already giving you. And what the fuck is wrong with me that I'm starting to buy what you're sellin'?"

He feels bad. Willem actually feels bad. (He has the capability of feeling bad. Some of the people in this prison do not.)

Eduard will have to betray a little more of his hand. "It's a little late for guilt. What's happened has happened. I'm not the weird tech guy anymore. Do you expect me to play by those rules all my life? Even in the inside, with no access to computers or other tools I was good at using?"

Willem snorts. "Of course you were a geek. Of course you were."

Eduard ignores him. "Look," he says instead. "You know your drugs." Behind him, Willem laughs, sarcastic and bitter, and mutters _fuckin' understatement_. "You saw Sadik and Beilschmidt at work, shortly before they ... you know. You called them jittery idiots. Is that symptomatic of crack, or heroin?"

"Crack, for fuck's sake," Willem replies easily.

"And if twenty minutes later they fall asleep in their soup, too tired to eat it, is that crack, or heroin?"

Beat. "That's - that's heroin," Willem says again.

"You would have known, if you hadn't come with me to the doctor's, that Sadik and Beilschmidt barely made it through dinner."

"But that's impossible," breathes Willem.

"It was heroin you were holding for them, wasn't it. Heroin that went missing from your possession. Heroin that they later used."

Willem behind him is speechless.

"Sure, it's possible," says Eduard, "that they simply found more. And sure, it's possible that it simply disappeared from your hiding place. Coincidence? Could be. But as I understand it, heroin is harder to come by these days. And who else is in your cell? Berwald? I doubt he touches your things. Me? I don't want my hand broken. No, it's a lot likelier that Braginski knows about your hiding place. Now, he hasn't said a thing about the magazines, so I don't think he's found those yet -"

"I'll get a new one in about two months," Willem murmurs.

"You'll have to leave it with me. Don't you dare put it in the mattress."

Willem begins but does not complete his thought. "He... he did..."

"He fabricated your debt. He was spotted talking to one of the solitary guards just after Beilschmidt was in solitary."

"Gil's in on it?"

Eduard shakes his head. "Not quite. He told Beilschmidt that it was permissible to take me as payment."

"That's why they insisted - they insisted on you," says Willem. The truth dawns upon his face and he looks abhorred by it. "They said they'd take nothing else, that all would be considered even if I just shut up and let them at the bitch, just once. They said as long as Braginski never found out."

When it was him all along. "What I need to know is why. I know why he'd do it to get to me - he wants me vulnerable, he wants me with no link to either you or Berwald. Then I'm fully reliant on him. He wants that control. I meant what I said, Willem - he's picking you off, one by one. But why'd he do it to you like this? This took work."

"Because he doesn't like me dealing? Because he thinks that if I don't find some kinda outlet I'll find drugs again?" Willem says, thinking aloud, then stumbles upon the answer. "Because he knows I'm weak, he wants people weak. They don't offer any resistance."

"And are you weak?"

Willem leans his head forward, pressing it into the back of Eduard's neck. There he sighs, and the whorls of air on Eduard's nape tingle delightfully down his shoulders. "It took me three years - in here, no less - to get clean. I'm not fuckin' doing that shit again."

Then he isn't weak. "Then why deal?"

"It gets me cigarettes," Willem replies. "It gives me something to do. If I keep control over it like that, I see it as work, not fun. But when I don't have anything else to do, that's when I get bad. Stir-crazy."

"That's where I come in," says Eduard. He undoes the buttons on his jumpsuit past his waist. "I can give you something to do, and I need your cigarettes. Isn't that fair?"

"You can't. Not for three weeks, at least. Doc's orders. I like danger but that's a bit much, even for me," says Willem.

Eduard takes Willem's hand and directs it inside, encouraging it lower to his abdomen, where held in place by the waistband of his underwear, is a condom.

Willem sucks in a breath. "Where the fuck did you get this?" he whispers. "Did you steal from Ivan?"

"This is what your cigarettes buy you," says Eduard. He shifts and twists, knocking the jumpsuit off his shoulders. "So?"

"So nothing," says Willem, though he touches Eduard's left shoulder, cupping it with his hand and rubbing his thumb over it appreciatively. Eduard pushes the jumpsuit to his waist. "If Ivan doesn't kill me, Berwald will."

"Neither of them know about it if we're quiet," Eduard replies. They will have to be quiet and it will have to be here, in this closet, at work, because at the moment Willem can't be seen to be with Eduard like this, by anybody.

"Then what's this?" Willem asks.

"Payment in advance." Done when and where Braginski and Berwald won't know about it. "It - it might be easier, if I blow you," Eduard realises. "We don't exactly have a lot of room -"

"Fuck that," Willem retorts, "you got one of these -" he holds the condom aloft, sandwiched between two fingers, visible by the dim light from the crack of the cupboard doors - "I'm fucking you. Do you have -"

"In my sock," Eduard replies. "Inside right ankle."

Willem bends for it, pressing the whole length of his body to Eduard's by coincidence since there is no space, but it seems like the kind of thing Willem would do anyway. "They could've patted you down," he says.

It's true that being in prison - at least, _this_ prison - means forfeiture of dissent to random checks and patdowns, if the guards suspected anything. "It's not metal. It's not a weapon," he argues, "so what would they have done?"

"Hmm. Confiscated something that makes Braginski's bitch work better? Good point," says Willem. He straightens as much as he can behind Eduard and flicks the plastic cap open. "What guard would want to be responsible for that?"

Willem shoves the jumpsuit below his hips and drags his underwear past the swell of his ass, then worms a finger inside. It's not easy to do with Eduard held like this, keeping his shoulders and body tucked in so that he can fit inside the closet, his limbs are all squished together, and that includes his ass. Willem's messy about it, getting more lube on his cheeks than actually inside him, but as he fingers him, Willem leans forward, and takes the tips of Eduard's ears in his teeth, then bends his head to run his lips and tongue over Eduard's neck in a series of hot kisses. Eduard's eyes flutter closed.

It's the little details that Willem pays attention to, a categorical, methodical mapping of everywhere Eduard is supersensitive, where he needs only the basest attention to spike his arousal, these little details that Willem remembers that makes him a decent lover.

Of course, Eduard does not tell him any of this; Willem's head is big enough.

Eduard hears the rip of the foil packet behind him and a quiet wet splurt from the container of lube. He braces himself, then Willem begins to push forward and in.

The lube has by now been smeared everywhere on Eduard's backside to get Willem in at all, but Willem is hard and hot enough to compensate for it - so Eduard can feel between his cheeks. Despite the awkwardness, the head of Willem's cock fits snugly through the rim of his ass, and Willem sighs into the nape of his neck.

It's awkward and more painful than it usually is with Willem - for a split second Eduard's heart lurches in his chest and he remembers the table with Sadik and Beilschmidt - but it's also a departure from anything else he's done with Willem. Normally Willem likes Eduard's legs spread wide, but he can't do this here, his legs are jammed together and he can only stand there, bent forward to accommodate Willem. And he doesn't dare bend too far, lest their combined weight topple the cupboard over from the inside. Eduard tries as much as he can to counterbalance Willem's force, and it isn't easy.

"You know I won't do anything against him alone," Willem whispers against his collarbone, then pushes in further, until he's seated as far as he can go.

"You could," Eduard says, wincing. "You could take him."

"If he wanted to -" Willem gasps, and continues his thought more breathily - "he could take me, fuck, I work out more, but he's - _mmph_ \- he's bigger."

" _If_ he wanted to," points out Eduard. "It'd be a game of chicken. He knows it'd be trouble. And he's lazy."

Willem licks up the side of his neck. "Can I take that chance?" he asks. "For you? As good as you are?" He slips the hand he used to finger Eduard with - it's still slick - underneath Eduard's undershirts, where he splays the fingers possessively and nudges a blunt finger over his nipple, pinching it softly between fingernail and nail bed. Eduard gasps just a bit too loud, and Willem's other hand claps over his mouth. "Shhh," he hisses, a filthy sibilant in Eduard's ear, then tongues the shell of it.

Eduard licks the fingers he's given, nips the tip of one and curls his tongue around it, and Willem pants a reply, not quite so silent himself.

"Would you do something if it's you and another?" he murmurs around Willem's fingers. "Against him?"

Willem draws out for the first time - what kindness Willem bestowed him by waiting for Eduard to adjust is quickly overshadowed by Willem's own greed, lust, and impatience, and he thrusts back in fast. Eduard stifles a cry against Willem's hand, without being able to tell whether it's more in pain or pleasure. "Depends on who the other is," Willem says, then pulls out and thrusts in again, sharp and hard.

While it doesn't hurt like it did with Sadik and Beilschmidt, it's no picnic. This is as far as it'll get from this angle, he can feel Willem's hips warm against his buttocks, and it's not nearly deep enough for Eduard, not enough to satisfy him. Eduard pushes back, pressing into him, arching his back to try for it but nothing works. He tries shifting his weight to permit his thighs to spread, so Willem can slide deeper in, but it doesn't work.

Still not enough! Eduard resorts to another tactic for satisfaction and gets one hand down to his cock, the other propped up against the inside of the cupboard.

"If the other guy is you?" Willem continues. "No chance. You and me, against Ivan? Sorry, kiddo," and the hand at Eduard's nipple drifts down to the waistband of his underwear, and then slips inside. "As much as I like you. As cute as you can be," he sneers, as he curls his hand around Eduard's to help him jerk himself off.

Eduard tongues between Willem's fingers, then releases them. Willem would be surprised at what havoc Eduard could wreak using his body, using his mind. A hot thrill races through him at the thought of it. How hungry he is to make them all see - Braginski especially. But Willem is right that no part of his physique presents a physical threat. "And what if it were Berwald? Would you stand up to Braginski for me, if he did it with you?"

"Yes," pants Willem, "aagh, fuck - yes, of course!" His hips shake as he pushes in, his thrusts growing faster. "Too easy! We'd put him in his fuckin' place without lifting a finger - mmm, fuck - he wouldn't bother. But - hah - what would there be to stop him, from diggin' up more dirt on us?"

"That's where I come in," says Eduard. Willem twists with his grip on Eduard's cock and he stifles another moan on Willem's fingers. "Fuck," he gasps, "do that again."

"Yeah?" Willem whispers. Eduard hears the grin in his voice, and feels it in the curve of his lips when Willem kisses his neck. He thrusts in and it might be Eduard's imagination but he feels deeper. "You fuckin' like it like this? Hm?"

"Mm-hmm," he replies, not bothering to hide it or deny it from either of them.

"Not just saying it to get protection anymore, are you." Willem rubs the side of his chin below Eduard's jaw as he switches sides, his lips and teeth now at Eduard's neck, now trailing down to his bare shoulder, and Eduard can't hold back a shiver, or the way his cock leaps in their hands. "This place really did turn you out. _Slut_."

Once he would've felt shame, and perhaps he still does a little bit. Willem has a way of sneering that makes him sound all-knowing and snide, but Eduard knows his character a little better by now. If it were Braginski's words, maybe. But they're not.

And where Braginski likes to punish a slut, Willem likes to reward one.

_Just a little deeper_ , he thinks, chasing the relief he craves, a little faster, a little harder.

Willem obliges, and the tip of his cock barely grazes his prostate inside. Two strokes on his cock and Willem's thumb sliding over the head of it and Eduard is keening softly, bearing only the presence of mind to keep it mostly under his breath. Fuck, it's so good. Willem angles his hips, and drives himself in deeper. The frustration Eduard feels finally snaps, and he comes messily into their joined hands, his eyes clenched shut, his lips wrapped around Willem's fingers.

"Still feel like I fuckin' turned you onto this," Willem says, a hoarse guilty admission into Eduard's shoulder. "Like I made an addict outta you." But he thrusts harder, panting in Eduard's ear, and the aftershocks of orgasm combined with Willem's relentless pace have Eduard whimpering, shivering, falling apart in Willem's arms.

"It's not a drug for me, it's a tool," hisses Eduard shakily. "I'm not ashamed of - a-ah - of using it, not anymore, and if I can get something with it, then it's useful."

"And maybe it helps that I make you come," Willem moans.

Eduard smiles without mirth. "You'll protect me?"

"When you need it," Willem grunts, " _and_ when it's convenient - ungh - for me - those are - _hahh_ \- the conditions," and then Willem says nothing more, too caught up in his own completion as he holds Eduard close and throbs and comes inside him.

Eduard waits until Willem's breathing has evened out - loud and echoing in the tiny cupboard - before he turns, and says over his shoulder, "I expect nothing less, nothing more."

"God, I miss beds though," says Willem. His arms are still wrapped around Eduard.

"Soon enough," Eduard replies. "You won't have to wait for Braginski to say so."

"And when's that?"

"Soon," is all Eduard commits to. After he gets Berwald assured of his loyalties. After he figures out what to do about Braginski.

Once, he might've had to decide where his loyalties lie. Once, he might've thought of selling Berwald out. If Braginski possessed the ability to keep his word, then his deal was the better one - Eduard has no doubt that Braginski would not bother shielding Eduard with his fists, but would bring out something sharper. Braginski is the sort that fights dirty and honourless and is unashamed about it, and Eduard is certain Braginski has something in his arsenal to secure his position as top dog. If threatened, if needed, he would do anything to win, and rules don't matter, only the victory.

It would be one thing if Braginski were discriminate with whom he played dirty. But he is not. And Eduard knows that there is nothing preventing Braginski from backstabbing _him_ , sex or no, because Braginski's cronies assaulted him at Braginski's urging. Because it is not sex for the sake of sex which Braginski wants. Not quite.

Berwald, however, can match Braginski fist for fist. And perhaps he doesn't have a knife, and doesn't play so dirty, but those rules apply to all. With everybody, including Eduard.

In fact, Eduard is in the unique position to be able to have a stronger set of rules, if he plays his cards right. Eduard could trust Berwald, in a way that he cannot ever trust Braginski.

"Fuck," sighs Willem behind him.

"You needed this," Eduard says simply.

"Yeah, but -"

" _I_ needed this," he adds. Willem must accept it, for he doesn't say anything more.

They right their clothes. As Eduard is pulling his on - trying to get as much of the lube off his ass and on the inside of the cupboard - Willem pushes open the door. "Coast's clear," he says. He steps out and cracks something, from the sound of it, his back. Eduard follows him out.

They are not out a minute before a guard comes by. Not one Eduard recognises. Next to the cupboard, there is the set of drawers containing parts. Cleverly, Willem has already bent over it. He selects the resistors carefully. Eduard stands beside the drawers, leaning on them, next to Willem. This is the scene the guard stumbles across.

"Fuck're you two doing back here?" says the guard.

"Needed more parts," says Willem.

The guard glares. "And you?" he asks.

"Ran out of solder," Eduard replies coolly.

The guard glares at them both. "Well, you're not paid to socialise. Get back to work," he says, then leaves.

Willem and Eduard exchange a smile, then Willem reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slightly squashed pack of cigarettes, then tosses them over. Eduard half-grins wryly as he catches them. "Thanks. Next time'll be better. I'll want two." In a bed sounds nice. Where he can spread his legs all he wants and Willem can screw him slow and good.

Willem's smile disappears. "Look, kid. Are you sure? What do you propose to do about Ivan?"

"Leave him to me," Eduard says darkly.

"Fuckin' christ," breathes Willem. "Eduard, you're gonna get yourself _killed_."

Before he thinks about it, Eduard snaps, "Have you never had faith in anything in your life?"

It is a rhetorical question, but begs an answer.

Willem stands there, in front of the apothecary drawers containing everything from resistors and diodes to basic operational amplifiers. His weight is held uneven on his hips, casual, uncaring; meanwhile, his shoulders are slumped, one arm loose at his sides and the other hanging across, grabbing it at the elbow, his mouth is a wry disgusted twist, and his eyes are hard and dull. Like he does care, and is poorly pretending the opposite.

His bodyguard looks fragile, not broken but shattered - this man who, if his story is true, has been a drug abuser and peddler for most - perhaps all - of his life, and whose way through the turmoil, so he himself believes, was paid in basic compassion, burning and smoking and snorting and shooting every last speck of it out of every pore, until every tick-like speck of empathy for humanity he might once have had, had fled, before he even landed himself behind bars -

\- so Willem thinks. Eduard has a keener eye. This explains why Willem is rude, dismissive, and apathetic, and why despite those traits, he ultimately possesses a conscience and with it a few small shreds of hope that he believes he has buried and lost, but which persist still.

"Give it one last shot, for old times' sake," demands Eduard, "and put some faith in me."

Willem blinks, then mechanically nods once.  


* * *

A few days pass. Berwald walks past him as he's lifting in the rec yard and takes the dumbbell from him. As he's bending over Eduard, he whispers, "We should talk." He hands him the dumbbell and then walks off back to the building.

Did Braginski see? No, Braginski is off by the fences, talking with another person. A guard, shorter than Braginski, with lanky chin-length brown hair and a nervous demeanour. But as he thinks about it Braginski and the guard look over at him. Braginski grins.

Eduard exercises another five minutes, during which he receives no more of Braginski's attention, thankfully, and then races to the building. He's a little upset to miss out on rec time, but this is his chance to have some time alone with Berwald. Besides, by his count, the next rec time will be in two days after a lockdown.

Everything is sliding schedules, had said Lovino, and he's proven right about that. Eduard's been correct on predicting rec times (and their duration, because those alternate also) for the last week. It's reason enough to suppose the pattern will hold.

He finds Berwald walking out of the showers, as he walks in. "I'll be waitin'," growls Berwald under his breath, and pushes past him down the hall. He sees why immediately.

There are others in the showers. There's only one other prisoner there - Vash, who's quiet and tends to mind his own business, but is still a pair of eyes and ears potentially under Braginski's influence. And there's the mandatory two guards. Vash doesn't look at him (or if he does, it's furtively and hence below Eduard's level of consciousness) but it feels like the guards are leering.

Eduard makes quick work of washing.

Jumpsuited again, he returns to the cell. Berwald is in his bunk, his nose in a book.

Eduard supposes he'd better be nude for this. He'll going to wind up nude eventually anyway. It's just pragmatic. He strips out of his clothes, grabs the lube, and upon second thought, also grabs a condom. It worked on Willem.

The hall and the wing are empty. Everyone is still outside. (Or in Vash's case, in the shower, but Vash is a fussy, fastidious sort who showers before _and_ after he goes outside. He'll return to the wing much later, with all the others.) Eduard climbs the ladder to Berwald's bunk.

Berwald peeks over the edge of the book. "Ain't you _fresh_ ," he says sarcastically. "Just wanted t' talk."

Oh. Eduard thinks to go back and retrieve his clothes but at a step back down the ladder, Berwald sighs and puts his book down. "'M fuckin' teasin' ya. S' a waste of time. Just come close."

So he does, and cuddles up close to Berwald. Berwald pulls his sheet over them both - over their heads. "There's no one around," says Eduard.

"Paranoia's served me well," Berwald argues. "Wanted to talk to ya."

"About?"

"'Bout what you said, just before Ivan fucked you over th' bunk three days ago."

So he did pick up on that. Good. "I'll tell you what I meant," proposes Eduard. "But in exchange, I've a question of my own."

Berwald narrows his eyes. "What's th' question?"

Was that a yes? "Well, do you agree?" asks Eduard.

"Is... 's that th' question?" Berwald says flatly.

Eduard grimaces and flicks Berwald on the chest. "No, it's not the question!"

Berwald is laughing at him. "'Cause y' only get th' one!"

"You're a dick," Eduard says, but he's smiling too. Has he seen Berwald laugh before? Once, maybe. It's seldom. It's heartwarming.

He does care for Berwald. Berwald's a decent human being! There's no point in pretending he's cutthroat enough to hand Berwald over to Braginski.

"Well. What's yer question," asks a grinning Berwald again.

Eduard moistens his lips with his tongue. "I want know what happened when you were in the army."

The mood flips. Berwald sobers. "I could tell you lots about the kind of stuff I did in the army," he replies. Eduard knows that he knows what Eduard is _really_ asking about. He lifts the corner of the sheet to check the hall again. Nobody, of course.

"I want the details about how it relates to why you're here," Eduard says.

"You wanna know what I did t' get in prison?"

He feels chastised. "I'm not supposed to ask. I know that."

"Yer askin' a lot," agrees Berwald.

Eduard is silent.

Berwald shifts under their sheet canopy. "You talk first. If I like what I hear - an' that's an _if_ \- then mebbe I'll tell you 'bout what happened."

He knows. He knows already that Braginski wants Eduard to sell him out. Maybe he's heard something. Maybe he anticipated it.

Berwald's not stupid. He's fishing for a tell. If Eduard gives him the truth - or what Berwald perceives to be it - he'll know that he can be trusted.

Eduard must make the call: be completely honest and open with Berwald, and maybe he'll get the army story. (Assuming it's the key to what he needs!) Leave anything out - or appear to - and he will have divulged everything for nothing because Berwald won't tell and loose lips sink ships.

But he cannot hold back anything, anyway. It doesn't work in his favour. Berwald wouldn't be pleased.

Eduard is already voiding at least part of Braginski's offer in doing this. Knowing Braginski, any part, no matter how minute, is answer enough. Not that Eduard really wanted to take him up. Braginski would back stab him somewhere along the line anyway.

"Braginski's been trying for over a month now to get information about you," he confesses. "He wants me to get close to you to get this information, then give it to him. I think he doesn't like being unable to control people. He knows he still shares me with you, but he currently has nothing over you to make you drop your grip."

Berwald is quiet. "Nothin'?" he asks.

"Well," says Eduard, "he seems to think he knows something about the army story."

"Mm," Berwald replies. "Does he, now."

"He wouldn't divulge any details about it. That tells me he doesn't know anything and is trying to play it off as though he does. I suspect it wouldn't be the first time he did that, now, would it?"

Berwald concedes the point with a shallow nod.

"I think it's one of the reasons he wants you pinned under his thumb. He wants to control you." Eduard coughs. "He thinks that you love me, so he thinks that withholding me from you will control you." Berwald's face doesn't change. Not one muscle. "Also, he wants you away from me."

"An' yer _that_ important to him?"

What shame that the first thought in Eduard's head is _ah, if only_. "Only when he thinks that I'm something you want. If he controls me, then he controls you. That's what he thinks."

Berwald peeks out from underneath the sheet, and then fastens it back. "An' what do you think?"

Eduard takes a moment to reflect. He needs to be careful. He doesn't want to betray how he feels about Berwald - a), because he doesn't know himself and b), because he doesn't want to do it before Berwald betrays how he feels about Eduard. "I think," he says slowly, "to any outside observer, it's clear that you want me... if I'm easy to have. If I'm not, you can go without. No sweat off your back. In that respect, you've managed to keep your distance."

Except that Lovino and Braginski have both guessed what Eduard has guessed.

"But I don't think that's quite true," he finishes.

Berwald raises an eyebrow.

"Braginski doesn't know what love looks like," says Eduard. "He wouldn't know it if it gave him a dozen red roses and a lap dance. He wouldn't even know what to look for, and he thinks he's looking at something that might be it, and he has no clue. The only reason he hasn't out-right asked me how I feel about you is because he knows that then, I'd catch on. So he has to be covert about it, creeping around the meaning instead of being forward."

"Whut's yer point," says Berwald.

"If I don't tell him how we feel about each other - how I feel about you - he has no way of knowing anything about it. And I think part of him knows that, and that makes him really mad. He's hoping one of us will slip up. And ... and the problem is, I know it won't be you."

"Hm?"

"You've got a _good_ poker face. Much better than mine. But that doesn't say anything." He sighs. "So the bitch falls in love, who cares! He can read it in my eyes, he doesn't mind. One more way for him to manipulate me. But you, he can only manipulate you if he knows how you feel, and the only way he'd do that without reading it off you is -"

"Through you," finishes Berwald.

"Exactly," says Eduard.

Berwald is cautious and wary. "So then, whyn't you go tell him everythin' you know?" he asks.

"Because he terrifies me!"

"If he's promised to protect ya -"

"He didn't promise me _shit_. No one word of his can be trusted. He set up all of that with Willem just so that he could oust Willem from our little deal."

"Th' debts -"

"Lied about them. Then he moved pieces around until they were true. Willem had no chance."

This, at least, seems to be news to Berwald. "An' me?" he asks.

"You could keep him off for awhile. You're a - a mountain," gushes Eduard, and this part isn't even acting, "you won't budge! But the problem is Braginski knows that. So he'll take anything he can get to blackmail some influence on you. And he thinks he has it."

"An' does he?" asks Berwald. His eyes are narrowed and victorious. "What have you told him?"

"Nothing," says Eduard. "There's nothing I know that he doesn't already know."

"Truly?"

Eduard reconsiders. "I know about Kris," he supposes. "And I have my own ideas." The conversation with Lovino comes back to him. "But it's too subjective."

"An' didja tell Ivan 'bout what happened with Kris?"

Eduard shakes his head. Come to think of it, he didn't tell Lovino either.

"Good," says Berwald. "'Cause it's a lie."

At Eduard's face, jaw dropped and all, it must be the picture of shock, Berwald elaborates with a certain snide jeer of a tone. "Never did anythin' with Kris. Wouldn't put my junk near his dumb face. I barely talk to 'im. Y'don't seriously think that someone could give head in here without bein' dragged through th' sewers fer it."

Eduard snorts. Of course. How foolish for him to hold hope that someone in his position could ever rise above it. He feels more enraged than offended.

Then there is a quiet spell. "Y' said you had somethin' subjective," adds Berwald. "You gonna tell Ivan 'bout that?"

"Oh, what the hell do _I_ know," mutters Eduard. He can't even tell when Berwald's feeding him a gigantic lie.

Berwald shrugs. "Slander's got its own power, here."

"What could I tell him?" says Eduard, exasperated. "That you look like you're enjoying it a bit too much to use the 'a hole is a hole' excuse? That you ask me to touch myself and that it makes you hard, that you like to make out with me almost as much as you like fucking me? That you like to hold me, that you touch me the way I used to touch my wife?" Berwald has paled. Eduard lifts the hem of the sheet, just in case. The hall is still empty. "My word against yours," he continues. "And you have the arms to back it up."

"'S more damnin' than you think," says Berwald, shaken. "Ivan could work with that alone."

Another quiet spell. "Well he won't," says Eduard. "He wants that information, he can sleep with you himself. If you'll put your junk near his dumb face that is. But I'm not giving him squat."

"Hm. That so? 'Cause y'worked too hard fer that information to just give it away fer free? That it?"

Eduard shakes his head. "No, because I don't want what he's selling. He's lying about saying he'll protect me."

Berwald leans in closer. "Yeah?" he purrs by Eduard's ears. "An' how's that?"

So Eduard explains what happened with Beilschmidt and Sadik. Berwald listens patiently. At the end of the sordid tale he says, "Yer right, a'course," and then smiles grimly. "But y'can't prove any of it."

"I- can't I? Isn't it obvious?"

"Think yer the only one's worked it out," he replies. "Yer the only one who's had all th' pieces. There's no concrete proof. By now, I 'spect Sadik an' Gilbert'll have snorted or shot up whatever proof ya might've had. No evidence. Just how Ivan likes it."

Eduard sulks. "You don't believe me," he says.

"On th' contrary," says Berwald. Once more he peeks out the sheet curtain, and once more he drops it, having satisfied his terror. He breathes deeply.

"When I was in the army - I'd just b'come Löjtnant... y'see, there's no c'nscription anymore in Sweden, an' they underpay ya. 'S not exactly a well-liked pr'fession, but th' kinda things I wanted ta learn 'bout machines weren't th' kind they teach in university. An' they _do_ sendja places, an' I wanted to go places - anyway.

"At Löjtnant, I started travellin' lots, 'round Europe NATO bases. On my travels, met a buncha different folk. One'f 'em, a Norweg'n. Jerk got paid lot more'n I did, an' that's with Norway's conscription t' boot. Was a real good friend'f mine. We had a few joint ops. We had a real rapport, us two. Found out two years in that he had a lil' half-brother th' family left in Reykjavik. My buddy din't get on much with his folks. Guess neither did th' kid. We went t' go see him, kid's being provided fer by th' system, workin' with th' church. Skinny kid, when I first saw'm. Big pretty eyes, poor lil' thing. 'Bout six. He isn't happy. We could tell. Not sure'f th' church _did_ something to 'im. I din't ask any questions.

"My buddy takes him home ta Norway, adopts him, so. I figger, somethin' musta been serious. All's well, he signs papers. Names me as godfather. I thought nothin' of it.

"Fast forward a few years. My buddy dies on an op. Makes me th' kid's legal guardian. I'm not prepared fer that, but. That's irrel'vant, kid needs me. 'Bout ten, maybe eleven by this point. And my buddy had a weird way 'bout him... funny way'f makin' ya feel haunted, pursued. I don't b'lieve in magic, 's all hogwash, but at th' same time ... might say I'm superstitious. Errin' on th' side'f caution. He was real honour'ble, my friend was. Fixed big on doin' th' right thing. Very... respectable guy..."

Berwald at last trails off, and when Eduard looks up he finds Berwald has the distinct air of someone haunted, unsettled, and ashamed by what he's done.

"Anyway. Din't wanna move th' kid, seemed settled in Norway, but I couldn't find a way outta Stockh'lm, so with me he came. An' I found him a nice international school. He wouldn't learn Swedish, he got uprooted 'nough as it is. Put him in football, well, din't like football. Tried hockey, hated skatin'. Tried indoor bandy, hated that too. Art class, threw a tantrum. Band, got kicked out. Computer club, he'd spend th' time online chattin' instead'f programmin'. An' then they started sending letters home 'bout his grades. 'Bout th' time I gotta call from th' cops. He'd been talkin' to older men on th' computers, y'see."

"Jesus," breathes Eduard.

"I can't blame him fer bein' upset. He'd lost his older brother an' I was a piss-poor substitute - I knew it, an' he knew it - mebbe he was lookin' fer one online. I'd just made Major an' it came with more money but more time away. Kid was left on his own a lot. He'd have friends over. Had some pretty wild parties." Eduard grins - it sounds like regular secondary school shenanigans - but Berwald continues, "Th' cops're called nine times in two years. I'd be gone fer weeks at a time. An' he'd just turned thirteen. I couldn't get a babysitter fer a thirteen year old? But he just wouldn't behave, an' I'd no family to watch him."

"What happened then?"

"Well, almost two years later, I finish my exchange courses at th' defence college. They appoint me Överstelöjtnant. I had one training exercise left. After that I figgered, I'd be able to ask fer a desk job in Stockholm, so to be home more. If they didn't give me one, well... I'd a resignation letter drafted."

That's a surprise. "You would quit?"

"He obviously needed my attention," Berwald says. "An' I couldn't ... run from it anymore. When I returned, I'd every intention'f handin' it in. But that morning... he was fine. He was different. He was quiet, th' house was clean - spotless, even - an' after that, he started t' behave. Overnight. I'd heard one'f his good friends was reported missing, so, I s'posed that scared him straight. An' so we got - closer. Things were - were good."

Berwald sighs. "Awhile later he approached me, an' - well. Long story short, was him that did it."

"Did what?" asks Eduard.

"That killed his friend." Eduard gasps. "It was an accident - I think - I _hope_. But who knows fer sure? It was just th' two of 'em, an' I never got a straight answer outta him what happened. Said they'd had a fight. One thing led to another, an' then there was an accident. He told me quite some time later, so I'd had t' ask, what happened to the other boy. Said he was in our freezer." Eduard gapes.

"He made me promise t' help him, so I did, 'course I did, and - an' I felt bad, 'cause everythin' he said, he was right, it was my fault, he was on his own so much, he din't know whut he'd done, he was only a kid, four months shy'f fifteen when he told me, an' I - " Berwald looks away. "Well, y'know... With the army, I'd access t' chemicals that normal folk don't. I could make th' problem go away."

"You _didn't_ ," says Eduard softly.

"Cops knew him already on minor misdemean'rs. Shopliftin', public disturbance, tried to fight a cop once. I was worried they'd connect dots... I couldn't let 'im go to jail."

"They would have sent him to juvenile if anything," argues Eduard.

Berwald swallows. "They woulda found out first, whether it was an accident. An' thing is... havin' cleaned it up, I don't think it was."

Well. This is pretty bad. But Eduard suspects something more. Braginski's words remind him of it. _Would_ you _take the fall for your very best friend unless you loved him desperately, with all your heart?_

What about a son?

Sure, a son. But this wasn't a son he was related to. Unless he loved him like one. Or loved him like -

Loved him like more.

But... that's even worse...

But Berwald isn't making eye contact. He's hiding something.

"There's even more to it than just that, isn't there," Eduard says grimly.

He peeks out to checks the hallway. Nobody.

"He was four months shy of fifteen, you said," says Eduard.

"An' I was thirty-two," whispers Berwald, miserable.

Eduard cannot speak. This changes everything. He'd thought that Berwald didn't like boys - Eduard doesn't look so young - or does he? Is that why Berwald jumped him?

He could use this to send Berwald to the wolves. Let them have Berwald.

But what would that gain him, if anything? A few extra months of attention drawn off him? Perhaps not even that.

And if he gave Braginski this, Braginski would win. _Eduard_ wants to win!

"I din't realise what a creature he'd become," says Berwald bitterly. "An' that was all my fault. I r'member my buddy talkin' 'bout how he was a tough kid to handle but I thought I knew. I din't know _shit!_ An' he had this way'f talkin' to ya, was uncomf'rtably flirty, an' he din't know I was g- well he din't _know_ , an' I wouldn't've! I don't - kids's, _no!_ \- so that's why I wasn't home too often, 'cause he kept gettin' _funny_ 'round me. We had so many arguments 'bout it. I wanted more'n anythin' fer someone else t' step in. Was it just me, did he do this with any male authority he saw, did he even see me as authority or could he just tell I was a born sucker? So I told m'self, I'd step down, I'd spend more time with him, an' fix it 'fore it got any worse -"

"And by fix it," says Eduard darkly, "you mean -"

"I mean set'm straight! I never meant to -"

"To sleep with him. Your godson." Eduard stops short of the most damning. _You never meant to fuck your underaged godson._

Berwald looks angry. "Don't like boys," he says quietly. He darts a look around, past Eduard's shoulder. Out the sheet canopy again. "Men, 's fine, can't help _that_ ," he says in a voice only fractions louder than a whisper, "boys, _never_. I'd sooner cut off m' own balls. But he knew me, he knew how to play me, how t' make me feel like he wasn't so young, an' I walked right into it." Berwald grimaces. "That's when I resigned my post, an' put him into therapy. An' when they were closing my file, they found th' paper trail on th' chemicals. An' th' rest is history. So y'know what, I don't mind bein' here."

"Is it really your fault?" says Eduard in a daze, but come to think of it, the kid sounds a lot like Braginski might've, when he was young. "There's people like that all over, it happens, just look at Braginski -"

" _He ain't nothin' like Braginski!_ " hisses Berwald. "He calmed right down when this all happened. He still goes t' therapy. There's ten years monthly sessions in advance, he can even change shrinks if he don't like th' one he's got. There's hope fer him, an' he's gettin' help! But it's just as well I don't be there when he's gettin' it. I can't trust 'im not t' try th' same thing. I can't trust _me_ not t' fuck him up any more. I wouldn't ever, again - I shouldn't've _once_ \- but I know I'd do it wrong an' undo all th' careful work we've done on his mind."

Berwald sighs, a sound made of desperate hope rather than conviction. Even he doesn't fully believe in his godson's redemption. "I just hope t' god he's capable by th' time I get outta here, 'cause if I find I've had a hand in raising a monster like him -" here Berwald jerks his head to Braginski's empty bunk, "I will kill m'self."

There is a seriousness in Berwald's eyes. He's not joking.

"Did you tell anyone this?" asks Eduard.

Berwald laughs derisively. "Y'think I'm nuts? Bad enough I'm tellin' you!"

"You're not - you're not scared I'm gonna tell anyone?" In a strange way, Eduard's really touched, to be in possession of such a secret.

"But yer _not_ gonna tell anyone," says Berwald. "'Cause you need me." Eduard looks away. "Ohh, yes. You need me," he says, viciously. "'Cause Willem won't act 'gainst Ivan alone, an' against two'f us, Braginski won't do shit. An' _that's_ what you want."

There's no point in denying it. Eduard nods, reluctant. What a shame Berwald had to be clever and gleans so easily the _why_ to Eduard's actions upon the follow-through. "And... what do _you_ want?" he suggests, squirming against Berwald's body.

"I don't wanna think about sex fer days," Berwald says darkly. "Just - don't go anyplace," he says instead, and draws nearer. The bunks are too narrow to permit two men lying side-by-side without physical contact, and so whether Berwald wants it or not, Eduard is pressed against him. But Berwald doesn't seem to mind.

They rest there a moment, in quiet contemplation, beneath the sheet, Berwald's forearm supporting Eduard's neck. If it were not for the sheet, there would be nothing to conceal from the hallway that they are cuddled up close to each other.

Eduard intends the first touch to Berwald's chest to be soothing. Like you'd pet an angry animal. It appears to work. So he continues, taking his time to explore the parts of Berwald's body he doesn't usually get to touch. Slowly Berwald unfreezes. Eduard starts off by unbuttoning his jumpsuit, the first two buttons, until the orange has him exposed to mid-chest. The next layer is his undershirt, and past that is Berwald's warm, smooth skin. Eduard fits his hand past the collar of the jumpsuit and presses it to the middle of Berwald's chest. He stretches his fingers wide on this plane, smoothing the undershirt flat beneath his fingertips. Berwald radiates heat through the cheap white polyester.

For awhile, Eduard is content to trace the shapes and forms beneath his hands. He traces out the curve of pectoral muscle, and further down, past the lip of it, nudging the nipple with a flick of his nail. Further below are the abdominals. Eduard traces these out as well. They aren't visible through the shirt but they're there, all of them. Eduard can feel them under his touch.

Hastily, his breath growing shallower, he unbuttons Berwald to the waist and unclips the belt.

He reaches the hem of Berwald's undershirt and then slips his hand inside, pressing it against Berwald's hot flesh. He hadn't thought he was cold until he held himself against this furnace of body heat. Berwald hisses a complaint to his cold fingers. But he doesn't stop him.

Then he follows the same path in reverse. Up each muscle. Each pair of defined abdominals. He sketches out the lines of each and trails along their curves.

This man did _not_ have an army desk job, that's for sure. What muscles he had coming in were only further defined by the style of exercise that they are given in the rec yard. Now, Berwald looks like a man who works on his body. (Which he is. Because there's nothing else to do here.) At last, Eduard has climbed up this ladder of skin - honestly, _washboard abs_ , he can't believe this is actually possible on people who aren't psychotic bodybuilders; but then again, Eduard has never been that strong himself, and his friends consisted of, well, other nerds - and reaches Berwald's nipple, which juts out, erect and prominent, into his undershirt. He traces around it. Berwald's eyes slip closed and his lips part and from them, Eduard hears the smallest helpless gasp.

Eduard's heart pounds and his chest aches and his groin pulses.

Meanwhile - with the increasingly smaller portion of the blood that remains to his brain - Eduard thinks.

Berwald is far too hard on himself. Eduard has known one or two kids like his. Dangerous kids. Wayward souls. There's at least one in every high school. He's certain Willem's known them too. Willem probably sold to some of them. This is not Berwald's fault. And it could not have been nonconsensual - at least not on the kid's part, young as he was. If it were, Berwald would not act this way - he would be even worse. He wouldn't let the touch happen at all. He would not have said anything. If Berwald's telling the whole truth. He seemed not to be lying about this. In fact, Berwald seemed seduced, which implies some agency, however misguided, on his godson's part.

At once it hits him. Has Berwald ever had a boyfriend? a lover? someone who lasted more than a night? (someone he wasn't emotionally related to?)

If not, then why, then, should he know what to do or what to expect? None at all. How else would Berwald be so easy to take advantage of, that a troubled teenager could do it? That Eduard himself could do it?

But he couldn't've been closeted. _Don't ask don't tell_ isn't a thing in Sweden's military.

Ah, but when would a career soldier like Berwald have time to find a boyfriend? A one-night stand fuck is one thing. A long-term love is quite another.

Perhaps even Berwald is aware of his godson's manipulation, horrified that his godson could be so coolly cruel. That might be the part of the story he has left in a vague half-truth.

Eduard pauses with his hand in the centre of Berwald's chest, his palm outstretched and resting upon it, where his heart must be. Eduard imagines he can feel the heartbeat beneath it. He spends a few seconds in mindful concentration before he realises it is not his imagination. Berwald's heartbeat is slightly elevated.

Eduard directs the trail of his touch downwards once more, and this time, when he reaches the hem of Berwald's undershirt, he slips his hand further down, inside the elastic band of Berwald's underwear. With his other hand, he undoes the two buttons remaining.

Then he slips his hand inside. Berwald's abdomen is warmer still. He trails lower, until he can feel the dry, wiry curls of hair. Lower, until he's touching the root of Berwald's cock. And then Eduard investigates further to find that Berwald's hot prick stands rigid and hard apart from his body.

A shiver dances down his spine. He curls his finger around Berwald's cock and holds it for a moment, then he traces down and up and down again with a loose grip. Teasing, still, but not without promise. "Still don't want to think about sex?" he asks.

His answer is a raised eyebrow and a wry grin. "Guess 'm easy," Berwald says, and reaches out to Eduard, to stroke his skin from shoulder to wrist, to his hip, and then down, where he discovers that Eduard is just as easy. Both eyebrows raise. "This fer me?" he murmurs, as he wraps his fingers around it. His little finger brushes over the top, smearing the wet that has gathered there. "Y' got this way just by touchin' me?"

Eduard doesn't say anything. This is his job, he tries to tell himself, it's what he does to pay them back for their protection. He's used to it. It's the anticipation. So he supposes.

And why shouldn't he be hard? Berwald has betrayed his hand, and Eduard has betrayed his own. Sex is the reward. Sex is the transaction. Isn't that fair? Isn't that what they had decided, months ago, when Eduard first arrived? And if he gets off, isn't that only more fair?

This is incorrect. Eduard, dismayed, wishes he could defensively chalk it up to a service exchanged for a service rendered. But it isn't.

Because what does sex provide, when Berwald needs Eduard to keep quiet about his secret, and Eduard needs Berwald to protect him?

Nothing at all! Sex is removed from the transaction. Eduard isn't forced anymore. He has Berwald by the balls by his knowledge alone. Which Berwald knew would happen, and which knowledge Berwald freely gave him anyway.

He doesn't have to sleep with Berwald.

Eduard reaches for the bottle of lube and the condom he had concealed behind it and hands both to Berwald, who doesn't ask about the condom but doesn't hide his surprise, either. His head is spinning. He's grateful he's already lying down. "Fuck me," he says simply. He already sounds wrecked.

Berwald smiles, sly and knowing, and Eduard's cock twitches in his hand. He slides forward to lie on top of Eduard, beneath the sheet, and opens the bottle. He squirts a glob out and works it onto the first two fingers as Eduard spreads his legs beneath him to accommodate Berwald's breadth. The ache in his groin only increases. His cock feels rock hard watching Berwald play with the glistening lubricant on his slick smooth shiny fingers, and knowing exactly where those fingers are going to go.

He's asked for this. He's going to have sex with a man, willingly, for no reason - Eduard starts to panic.

It calms him to think about things. Why did Berwald lie about Kris? "Kris was a test," realises Eduard aloud. "You wanted to see if I'd tell."

"Keep talkin' 'bout that dumb Dane, see 'f I can stay hard," teases Berwald. He descends his fingers past Eduard's waist and Eduard lifts his hips up in response and anticipation. Then he shrugs. "Wasn't entirely untrue," he says. "Just tweaked it a bit. To see where th' lie goes, if it goes to anyone."

And then the first touch assails him, a warm stroke of a fingertip across his asshole, circling the pucker before it pushes in. Eduard gasps and clenches his eyes shut. This shouldn't feel so good, it's criminal. At least he's already in prison.

Berwald pushes in deeper and deeper still, watching Eduard from above. Eduard gasps again, and then as Berwald pushes in further, he moans. He can't seem to be quiet. What a good thing there's nobody around.

"Don't keep yer eyes closed," says Berwald, now halfway inside. He crooks his fingers sharply up once and the tip of one grazes his prostate. Eduard's eyes are open in a flash and the moan erupts from him mid-exhalation, leaving him panting to catch his breath. "Keep an eye on the hall fer me, will ya?"

So Eduard lies back and relaxes, and upside down, his head sticking out of the sheet, he keeps a watch on the hall. There's nobody there. He wriggles to accommodate Berwald's fingers as Berwald shifts on the bed when suddenly there's a wet sensation on the head of his cock.

And then an engulfing warmth on the head.

Eduard moans, loud and long. "Yes," he gasps, "ah, yes, _yes_ -" and Berwald sucks him deeper. Berwald with his mouth on Eduard's cock. It can't be believed. It must be because Eduard props himself up on his elbows and watches under the sheet, wide-eyed, as another inch slips into Berwald's mouth, his lips wrapped around Eduard's cock. "Oh holy _fuck_ ," Eduard groans.

This is so dangerous.

But there's nobody in the hall. Eduard checks again. Nobody. But there's a camera. Their cell is video monitored like all the others. What if a guard is watching? One guard, not so bad, they could play it off as a lie, but what if two? Sure, it's most likely they're all outside babysitting the rec yard, but they can't know that for sure! And the sheet - they're concealed, but it's not hard to deduce what's happening. "You can't," says Eduard weakly, "I can't let you - not here, it'd ruin you -"

Berwald releases him. "I want to," he says, low and desperate, "I could ruin ya with my mouth an' fingers alone." He licks a line from the root of Eduard's cock to its head, before he dips his tongue inside the foreskin to gather the clear fluid there. As he draws away it stretches, connecting them still - Berwald's mouth to Eduard's cock. Just the thought and suggestion of this has Eduard close.

Berwald climbs up and kisses him. He casts the sheet aside. His fingers leave Eduard's body. Eduard can taste his own pre-ejaculate on Berwald's tongue and can feel against his own hardness how very erect Berwald has become.

"Fuck me," he says in a low hush. "Fuck me, fuck me _please_ , Berwald." He feels needier than he's ever been. Begging has ceased to be shameful.

An awful moment as Berwald removes the condom from its wrapper and unrolls it on himself, and then applies more lubricant. Eduard waits with what cannot exactly be called patience. "Please," he whispers, "please, _please_ ," and his hand is already halfway down his chest to jack himself off at the sight of Berwald preparing himself.

Berwald takes himself in hand and presses himself at Eduard's hole before he pushes in slowly.

It burns so beautifully. Eduard spreads his legs wider as Berwald pushes in farther and he tries to shift back to take more in, greedy for it. His hand flies to his cock and he's already rubbing himself before Berwald has bottomed out. His erection doesn't flag at all. He is breathless and his head is spinning again but no longer from panic.

Berwald knocks his hand away and wraps his own large hand around Eduard's cock. Time seems to slow as the long fingers curl around it. The first two fingers are still glistening with lube and as Berwald starts to jack him off, watching his face, it adds a slickness that Eduard doesn't even need because the head of his cock is already so wet, he's that excited.

He shifts and grips the mattress to push himself back, meeting all of Berwald's thrusts. When he does it gets Berwald in deep enough to touch his prostate. Berwald times the hand on his cock appropriately, and within heartbeats Eduard's body is singing and twitching as he rides Berwald from below, split wide by this beautiful man.

"Fuck," he moans, "o-oh, _fuck_ , I - I can't last, ah, like this, you're gonna make me come, ha-anh -"

"So come fer me," Berwald rumbles, as he shoves himself in deep and twists his hips.

The rush hits him hard and he tightens around Berwald, the head of Berwald's cock kissed to his prostate. Everything is aflame and he thinks he cries out but for a sacred moment he has lost all senses except for the sensation of release. All else is suspended and he thinks only _ecstasy, pure and hot and sweet_. It lasts longer than it usually does. He returns, panting, to find Berwald's face above him, contorted in its own beautiful agony, as Berwald releases inside him with a groan.

Still panting, Berwald pulls out, then wipes the come off Eduard's stomach and smears it on the sheet. Finally, he collapses upon Eduard's chest, warm and sweaty. He trails his tongue and lips all over Eduard's throat to his shoulders, and then back up again to his jaw, wet passionate kisses.

In the fog of afterglow, it seems like Berwald is lost to what exactly he's doing, drenching himself in intimacy, even if it's faked.

But... is it faked? They shared secrets that nobody else in this jail knows. Eduard spent ten minutes only touching him. Slowly. He didn't have to. Berwald did not ask him to. Berwald did not coerce him. Berwald did not buy it from him with his secrets. Eduard created that lust. Eduard made him hard. Making him hard made Eduard hard. And then Eduard let Berwald fuck him - _told_ him to fuck him, _begged_ him to fuck him - and from that Eduard climaxed.

This is Eduard's doing. Sex was not the price. Sex was not payment. The sex just - was. This is all Eduard's doing.

"Do you like sex?" he whispers.

Berwald snorts. "Is it nice to be warm an' dry when it's cold outside? 'Course."

"Do you like sex with me?"

Berwald doesn't say anything at first, and then he looks away. Eduard props himself back up on his elbows. With one hand he reaches over, grasps Berwald gently by the chin, and directs his face back. He leans in and kisses Berwald once, softly, on the lips.

"Y'don't need to, anymore," says Berwald.

"I know I don't need to," he says. Then he swallows. He breathes in deeply, once, then exhales. "I want to. And I'll want to, later. So, I'm propositioning you. Because I like sex with you." Eduard clears his throat. "And because I like you."

Which of those was hardest to say? He doesn't know anymore. What he does know is that none of it was lying.

He reads the expression on Berwald's face, putting together everything Eduard has. "But yer not g-"

They hear the door at the end of the hall open, and people start to file in. Rec time is over.

"Yer not that way," Berwald says instead.

" _You're_ the one who keeps saying that," says Eduard. "Not me." He grabs Berwald again, this time by the collar of his jumpsuit. He pulls him in close and kisses him soundly. It lasts a scant three seconds, maybe - three seconds, during which Eduard tries to pour as much emotion and feeling as he can into a physical motion. Is any of that emotion or feeling an act anymore? He isn't sure.

He wants so badly to stay longer.

But he knows what Braginski's going to want if he comes back from rec time to find Eduard in Berwald's bunk. And as much as it sends a hot thrill up his spine to think of Braginski taking him rough and hard in a pique of jealousy (the thought of using the situation, of _making_ ice king Braginski fuck him, of manipulating him the way he manipulates this whole penitentiary, has him squirming in delight), Eduard won't be able to explain why he has so clearly recently been fucked without mentioning the condoms, and he won't be able to explain the condoms without mentioning Lovino, and _that_ is dangerous.

Eduard breaks the contact, then thinks better of it and presses another kiss to Berwald's mouth. Berwald has never looked more torn. And then he vanishes down the ladder, drops the condom into the toilet and flushes it away. He slides into his own bunk, where he wraps himself with the sheet and pretends to be taking a nap.

Not one second later, Braginski enters their cell. Eduard can tell by the way the air shifts and the mood goes from warm to glacial. He doesn't open his eyes.

The footsteps stop by his bed.

_Don't notice me,_ he hopes.

Braginski _hmph_ s, and then he walks on to the ladder at the end of Eduard's bed and climbs up to his own bunk.

His cheeks flush warm. His lips are tingling.


	14. Chapter 14

One morning not too long later, Lovino sidles up behind Eduard while he's getting his breadboard. "Meet me tonight, 8:30, same place," he says in a low hiss, out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
Eduard spends a moment thinking _wait what? why?_ in a panic. Lovino must have information, but why would he, and about what? Nothing has happened with Braginski in a few days. Braginski took him in yesterday's lockdown, shouting loudly about it so that Willem could hear everything, but neither Willem nor Berwald were really bothered. It pissed Braginski off, but nothing Eduard could do about that.  
  
"I have no smokes to give you," says Eduard.  
  
"Don't need any," replies Lovino. "Well, I do, but this time you'd be doing me the favour."  
  
Eduard, surprised, looks his way.  
  
"Don't look at me!" he snaps. "Pretend we're not talking. They're watching us."  
  
The guards.  
  
"Tonight at 8:30," says Eduard as confirmation, and then returns to his seat.  
  
He manages to fuck Willem that day anyway, and obtains a pack of cigarettes for his trouble. It's another quickie in the closet. It's maybe just his imagination, but when he returns, and shifts in his seat - Willem was a little rough this time - one of the guards snickers at him. Not one he recognises.  


* * *

Lovino is already waiting for him when he arrives. "If you want to meet earlier, you should say so," says Eduard, as he cuddles in close to him. He hands over a single cigarette.

"What's this for?" asks Lovino. "Thought you said you didn't have any left."

"Peace offering," he replies. "You seemed upset earlier, so I pencilled Willem in for today."

Lovino's lips twist in a wry grimace. "You're sweet, you know that?" he says, sounding defeated. "You really are." He takes the cigarette.

"What did you want?"

He sighs. "I need you to pick a fight with Braginski tomorrow, before lockdown. When they're leading us into it at 3."

It sounds like a distraction. But what will that accomplish? He's the one who will have to spend the next day and a half locked into a cell with Braginski, after picking a fight with the guy. "What kind of fight?" asks Eduard instead.

"Make it a nasty one," advises Lovino. "You know how to wrestle at all?"

Eduard glares. "Do I _look_ like I know how to wrestle?"

"You should. Doesn't take as much brute strength as you might think. I mean sure, you could be a total beef of a guy, that won't hurt, but a lot've it is using your opponent's weight against him. Antonio could teach you. Wish we had time. Try and do that, if you can. Any guy's centre of gravity is fairly high."

Lovino twists to face him, and weaves a hand past Eduard's forearms to settle it on Eduard's belly. "Right here," he murmurs, low and rough. "Make him bend from the waist at this point. It'll be tough to realign without losing balance. Then, kick him or shove him just about anywhere in the legs and he'll topple over. Gives you a chance to get on top. Then you've got the advantage. The rest of it is just staying on top." He drops his touch from Eduard's body and Eduard exhales the breath he held. "That's where it's handy to be big, but - well. Anyway."

"Why am I doing this, exactly?" asks Eduard.

Lovino toys with the cigarette. "We need a distraction," he says. "The guards are on to us. Two in particular. Asparuhov and Laurinitis. They suspect something. They might have proof. Even if they don't, their suspicions and theories go directly to Ivan, which means -"

"He knows that we speak," Eduard finishes.

"He knew we spoke, because he knows you've been getting lube from someone. He doesn't mind that. It's -" Lovino flushes. "It's the rumours of something more that he doesn't like."

"What more could there be?" Although he has butterflies in his stomach thinking about it. Thinking about Lovino. Thinking about _something more_ with Lovino that Braginski wouldn't like. It's very appealing.

"Whether there is or not," says Lovino, "the rumour's enough. And his loss of control of you."

"So what does fighting do?"

"Well, the guards walk us back for lockdown tomorrow afternoon, and then they'll start a headcount. Fighting in front of them will piss 'em off."

"And pissing off the guards is a thing we want?"

"Yeah. 'Cause they'll take you aside - they don't like people who pick fights in places where a riot could break out - and speak privately to you. It's Laurinitis on duty, he swapped with Łukasiewicz, who's out sick. He'll take you back down to a holding cell and, well."

Lovino shifts, stalling. "This isn't easy to say," he says at last. "You're gonna need to make him fuck you."

A beat passes. "I need to what," says Eduard flatly.

"You need something on him, to make him shut up about any possible connection between us to Braginski. No matter his proof, you can threaten him silent if you know what he's done. To do that, you have to make sure he's done it."

_Great_ , he thinks bitterly. That's just great.

"Hey, at least he's handsome?" offers Lovino.

"That's really not the point," snaps Eduard.

"Look," says Lovino. "I'm sorry. I know it's asking a lot." Does Lovino even know what he's asking? Does Lovino think, like everybody else here, that Eduard enjoys this? "But if we have something on Laurinitis then we minimise Braginski's influence."

"Braginski'll react," says Eduard.

Lovino nods. "He might. We'll have to see what he does."

_We_. If _we_ have something on Laurinitis. _We_ 'll have to see what Braginski does. _We._

But there is a real problem with this. Now that Braginski knows - or suspects - Lovino is involved, he won't leave Lovino alone. Even if they can convince the guards - and hence Braginski - that there's nothing there, Eduard will have to be that much more careful with getting his information. If he's ever able to get any information again. This puts one of his pieces in check.

Well, it's about time he started seeking other sources that weren't Lovino. He puts a lot of eggs in one basket like this.

And it's dangerous to Lovino, and after all, why is Lovino even doing this -

The freeflow current of Eduard's train of thought halts.

That's one of the best questions he's never asked himself.

"Why are you doing this, Lovino?" he asks gently. "So the guards say we talk too much. You could just give me the silent treatment for a few weeks. Or months. Forever. Leave me on my own." He refuses to believe that Lovino is so hard-pressed for cigarettes that he would risk this for them. They're rare in here, but they're not that hard to get and Lovino has ways of getting what he needs. Why the warnings? Why bother keeping this connection?

Eduard refuses to believe that Lovino benefits significantly from this.

Does he like him so much?

"Yeah," mutters Lovino, "why indeed. Be easier to just fuck right off, wouldn't it." He looks away.

Eduard doesn't even provide him with sex. What if Eduard stops being useful or diverting to Lovino? His stomach fills with an icy dread.

"Look," Lovino continues. "You don't hafta do anything you don't want to. If you fuck Laurinitis, shit'll go more smoothly. I won't lie. But if you don't, then ... well, it'll work out. Somehow. We'll figure something out. I'm not gonna tell you who to fuck, because I'm not your fuckin' pimp. But do consider that this way would make a lotta things a lot easier."

"And how's that?"

"Laurinitis is Braginski's main source of information. Not just among the guards, the main one, period. You got something against Laurinitis, you got something against Braginski." Lovino stands and clears his throat. "And I don't know about you, but I would _love_ to have something against Braginski." He tucks the cigarette into the breast pocket of his jumpsuit and walks away.  


* * *

Eduard makes sure he is near Braginski the next day, as they file into the processional queue into afternoon lockdown. Judging by the pattern of lockdowns, today's will be followed by a break of about five hours tomorrow, when they'll have some time in the rec yard with some time in the shower. If he can't manage to throw Braginski off the scent of Lovino and him, Eduard will have to think up something good. Too much could happen in the yard or in the showers.

Unfortunately he is herded in front of Braginski, which is not where he'd like to be. A surprise attack from behind is the only way he could stand even half a chance against Braginski.

The procession passes through the door to the cells in their wing. It's now or not at all.

As Eduard crosses the threshold into their wing, he stops short suddenly. Braginski knocks into him. Eduard swings his elbow back and up, into what he hopes is Braginski's jaw. Or nose. He isn't picky.

He hears a loud _crack_ and a muffled grunt and then registers a warmth behind him as Braginski bends forward. Eduard bodychecks him to one side.

It doesn't work! He whirls around. Braginski has spread his legs to balance himself and his arms are thrown out either side, clutching the doorframe. Eduard kicks his shin to topple him but that doesn't work either and Braginski stays upright. In vain and at last Eduard hurls himself upon Braginski's back, elbows first, hoping that Braginski will crumble under Eduard's full weight, but he _doesn't budge_.

Braginski has a solid grip on that doorframe. From his vantage on Braginski's back, dangling from his massive shoulders, Eduard lunges for his left wrist to try and pry it loose.

The queue has backed up fore and aft to give them space. Some people are muttering something. Eduard ignores it, tugging fruitlessly on Braginski's grip.

Then Braginski reaches up with his right hand, grabs him by the jumpsuit, and throws him to the floor, on his back. In one swift move, while Eduard is winded and retrieving breath, Braginski drops like a stone and pins him at the waist and shoulders. Eduard coughs and flails.

"You need my attention so badly, Edik?" Braginski coos, wrestling Eduard's hands back to the ground. He drops down close and murmurs in Eduard's ear, "Don't I pay enough attention to you?" and then rolls his hips against Eduard's. "You always want _more_."

Eduard's already feeble attempts at struggling become half-hearted and pathetic. Braginski just has that knack to make him weak at the knees, and he doesn't want to struggle, really. Braginski's whole body promises domination, his words promise sex and Eduard is listening avidly, squirming underneath Braginski's weight.

"That's enough!" cries a voice.

"I have him, you know," Braginski says - in Russian - "you can trust me." He rocks his pelvis against Eduard's once more. "I will take care of it in lockdown, once you leave." Eduard's eyes slip shut and his groin pulses involuntarily.

"Are you insane?" says a nearby pair of guard uniform pants. Eduard follows it up to the face. It's Laurinitis. Today, his lanky hair is pulled back into a short brown ponytail. "In front of all these people?"

"Now we have to make an example of this," says Asparuhov, who has appeared on the other side.

"Oh, an example! As though you actually do perform your jobs! How difficult for you both," replies Braginski, treacle-sweet and about as unctuous. "Very well. I can play with these cards too." He gets up off of Eduard and allows Asparuhov to handcuff him behind his back.

"Get to your feet," barks Laurinitis, as he hauls Eduard up. He handcuffs Eduard and pushes him around by the wrists fixed together behind his back. The guards frogmarch them both away. Eduard looks behind once - the rest of the lockdown proceeds as normal without them.

"Eyes front," snaps Laurinitis, and pushes Eduard's wrists into the small of his back, with a tight grip.

They come to a door that Eduard has seen guards come out of but nobody ever seems to go in. Laurinitis digs out a keyring and opens it for them. Asparuhov shoves Braginski in first - evidently nobody trusts him - and then follows. Laurinitis does the same with his prisoner.

"You don't have to keep shoving me," complains Eduard.

"Ye-es, he has very sensitive skin!" Braginski calls back, in his coquettish falsetto. Asparuhov snorts.

Laurinitis doesn't laugh. "Just keep walking," he says firmly.

They walk through a long, thin, empty corridor that seems like it should be an emergency exit and then at the end of that a corridor perpendicular, with six doors, marked G-1 through G-6. Asparuhov leads Braginski left into G-2; Laurinitis to the right with Eduard in tow, and stops at G-5. This he unlocks.

Why are they taking him behind these locked doors? Is this solitary?

"Be a good boy, Edik!" calls out Braginski in Russian, as he disappears into G-2. "I hear he likes it deep!"

Laurinitis blushes red. He evidently understands everything Braginski's saying. He shoves Eduard through.

G-5 is a workroom that looks like any boring office might. It's not solitary, then. In fact, Eduard has the distinct feeling he's not supposed to be here. Judging from the desk, fully covered in papers and file folders, it appears to be Laurinitis' office. There's his coat and a hat hung up on a coatrack by a cupboard with a spare shirt and pants, neatly folded beneath a baton.

It also appears to be something of a room for surveillance. There are no video-cameras here (by now, Eduard knows what they look like), but there are a lot of monitors for the cameras showing scenes elsewhere in the penitentiary. Eduard recognises the security system they're using from the monitor on the desk. The Indian restaurant down the street from where he lived had some trouble with a break-in once, and he offered to install it for them and hook it all up and keep up the routine maintenance in exchange for the occasional butter chicken dinner. It's a basic system, easily affordable, and it runs on Windows.

Eduard is disgusted that any facility which houses criminals like Braginski should be using _this_.

Laurinitis clears a small space on the desk free from paperwork before he perches there, half-seated, half-leaning, his arms folded across his chest. "Do you know why I brought you in here?"

To reiterate, there are no video-cameras in this room, and they're behind locked doors. _I hear he likes it deep_ , had said Braginski. Eduard gulps.

But Laurinitis seems the serious type. Too serious to laugh at Braginski's jokes. Too serious for fun. He wouldn't, would he? Surely none of the guards are actually interested in fucking him. They're not confined in here like the prisoners are, they could find someone better - someone female.

"I have a few ideas," says Eduard, purposefully vague.

Laurinitis is having none of it. "And?"

"Well," he begins, "I was fighting with Braginski, and given what this prison says about fighting..."

"Mm-hmm," says Laurinitis. "And what does this prison say about fighting?"

"Ah. Not to?" Eduard guesses.

Laurinitis smiles, briefly and bitterly. "Look. I want to help you, alright? Maybe if I help you, you'll fall in line a little more, and that makes my life a lot easier. And when my life is made easier, your lives are made easier."

"How is anything I've done here making your life _harder?_ " he explodes. "If anything, you should be going after Braginski! He- he's the one who starts shit - why, he's started everything, from day one and ..." But Laurinitis remains silent and sullen and his face grows grimmer.

Lovino was right. Laurinitis is a guard - it should be his job to be impartial. But Laurinitis is not his ally in this. In anything. Laurinitis, rather, is one of the guards that he's heard bandied about Braginski's alliances. Even if the guards might do something for a miserable, pleading prisoner - this one wouldn't. Laurinitis is Braginski's man.

"H-he started _everything_ ," says Eduard sadly.

"He started it, but I'm finishing it," says Laurinitis. "Is that understood?"

"Or what? You'll put me in solitary?" Oh please, let them put him in solitary. No more Braginski! A break from this for awhile. Truly nobody would bother him!

Laurinitis shakes his head. "No, we can't put you in solitary. He likes having control of you."

Eduard narrows his eyes. "Who... does?"

"Why, Ivan, of course. And if he has control of you, then he acts a certain way. When he has his way, it's easier for all of us to get along."

"But - _I'm_ the one who has to pay for it in the end," says Eduard.

"Yes, well. Those are the sacrifices," explains Laurinitis, in an even, flat inflection. "You've made your own choices, you're not here for nothing."

But this doesn't fit the crime he committed! Eduard was given ten years in jail, he was not sentenced to be a psychotic murderer's plaything! Is that the penalty now for simple fraud?

It isn't fair that the guards coopt any part of this treatment he's been getting in order to make their lives easier! What, and so they need someone to keep Braginski occupied? Whose job is it to select the victim? Who's worthy of making such a judgement? Certainly not the guards, who care only to keep the peace by any means necessary! What did the victim do to warrant such a punishment? How is Eduard - who committed fraud - picked over others, who have committed grander and more morally abhorrent crimes?

"Fine," says Eduard. He doesn't like it. But he'll receive no help from the guards, who have a clear vested interest in Braginski's win.

They don't care a whit for Eduard. He knows they've never respected him, but they don't even care if harm befalls him as long as their status quo is comfortably reached. Eduard is also a little upset, that his own safety is so compromisable. That he doesn't matter. None of them even see him as a little bit of a threat, and that's why they feel it's permissible to toss him aside like trash.

All of this is really starting to grate him.

"Can I go now?" Eduard mutters.

Laurinitis shakes his head. "I asked you if you knew why I brought you in here, and you didn't reply."

"Yes, I understand it now," Eduard snaps. "You wanted to talk me into kowtowing to Braginski's caprices like the rest of you do." Laurinitis is meek and spineless. And so is Eduard, sometimes, but at least he tries! Laurinitis doesn't sound like he's tried for years. - Ah, but Eduard remembers Dr Bonnefoy. _You haven't given up hope yet. I have._ Probably Laurinitis has too. Probably the rest of Braginski's bitches did, and Laurinitis has grown tired of waiting for Eduard's hope to run out.

Pity. He'll be waiting awhile.

"If all I wanted was to talk to you, I could have done that anywhere in the facility," says Laurinitis. He walks over to the door and closes it. Then he uncuffs Eduard's wrists. "Undress," he says.

"Wh- what?" He's learnt to expect the leering prisoners by now. He's their only hope of getting their dicks wet. But the guards, too?

"I'm searching you," explains Laurinitis. "Don't say I'm entirely without heart. I could have done it with many eyes watching."

"Why?"

" _Because_ ," growls Laurinitis. "Now strip!"

Shakily, he does.

Eventually he gets an answer, as he's halfway out of his jumpsuit and Laurinitis is trying not to look at him. "You asked why? Because you've got a connection with Vargas. We've seen you two have discussions. I think he gives you things. I'd like to know what kind of things he gives you."

Eduard begins to grow a little concerned. This is exactly what Lovino had warned against.

Is there anything on him that is contraband? Alas, there is. The bottle of lube and condom tucked into either side of the ankle of his sock. But surely Laurinitis won't get him in trouble for that?

Not unless he offers to Laurinitis the use of them.

He considers it. He really considers it.

It would give him something over Laurinitis.

That earlier subtext can't have been for nothing, can it? Braginski must know what they're doing. Braginski must expect it. Then, he can't get too mad about it later.

And even if Laurinitis is ordinarily too serious for fun, maybe he can be persuaded.

Shoeless, he pulls off the jumpsuit. Laurinitis spots the lube immediately. "What's that?" he asks.

Eduard pulls out both the lube and the condom to show them.

Laurinitis looks at them, then at him, then at his body. "Put them on the desk," he says. "Keep going."

So he toes his socks off, and then lifts the undershirts over his head.

"Do you think you're finished?" asks Laurinitis.

Eduard breathes in deeply and removes his underwear. "Satisfied?" he asks, standing nude.

Laurinitis looks him up and down. "Not yet," he murmurs. He reaches into the desk and pulls out a latex glove, which he pulls on with a snap at his wrist. "Spread your legs." He grabs Eduard's bottle of lube.

Eduard faces the desk and does so.

Now, he can be patient but there's something about waiting to be digitally sodomised by a prison guard that has him unnerved. He can't see what Laurinitis is doing, he has no clue when it's coming. Laurinitis has not exactly given him any hints that he is the kind of guy who will give fair warning.

"What makes you think I've had discussions with Vargas, anyway?" asks Eduard.

"You think we can't see you on the cameras?" There's a wet sound from the bottle of lube.

But they can't have seen them, because Lovino always keeps them hidden in the shadows. Tucked away, cuddled up against each other. God, if Laurinitis had, and given that over to Braginski, he'd be dead.

That's a worthy line of thought. What has Laurinitis seen and given over to Braginski? What must Braginski know?

"If you did see us," says Eduard, "you'd know where we met."

Laurinitis sighs. "Vargas made an appointment with the doctor, but obviously didn't attend it. I saw him returning to the workroom that day. Therefore, it couldn't have been for him."

Then Braginski knows. Eduard's heart sinks. He'll have to go through with this.

Well, he knows about this theory of Laurinitis'. How much credence does it have?

"That doesn't - _aa-ah!_ " The utterance is cut off in a squeak and his voice cracks as Laurinitis' slick cold fingertips press against his asshole and push in. "That doesn't mean anything," Eduard continues breathlessly. "He could have made it for anyone. He could have made it for himself, and have been dismissed early. He could have forgotten something important in the workroom. How could you know? Unless Dr Bonnefoy divulged what happened in a medical appointment."

"He's a consummate professional," says Laurinitis, pressing deeper.

That's a lie. "But you asked him about me," says Eduard.

"You think everything's about you," says Laurinitis.

"Then you haven't got any proof," he replies. "It's conjecture."

"He didn't need the appointment that day," says Laurinitis. "You did."

"No thanks to guards like you," mutters Eduard.

Laurinitis grunts and with a final push, his fingers bottom out inside Eduard, buried to the first knuckle. The palm of his hand, wrapped in cool latex, settles on the curve of his ass. "Besides, Vargas has told me some very interesting things about you."

_What?_ Like what? What did he say? _Why would Lovino do that?!_

Is Lovino selling him out? Has Lovino been on Braginski's side all along? He couldn't have been! He can't _stand_ Braginski!

No. Eduard mustn't panic. He'll operate first on reasoning. Lovino's been so far nothing but swift. He's clever, he's a decent strategist. Eduard _has_ to trust that there's a logical line of reasoning in this that Lovino has left for him to follow. He'll need as much information as he can get.

"What sort of things has he said?" Eduard does a good job of keeping his voice level under duress.

"He told me to pay attention," sneers Laurinitis, "because he said you'd been fighting with Braginski, that you've started to struggle with him." Laurinitis' fingers wriggle within him. He doesn't appear to notice and continues his taunts. "See? You're no innocent, you must like attention. Why else would you pick at a scab like that, hmm? Because you _like it_ , because it's _what you like_. He told me to fuck the bitch when he comes to me, because _that's what he likes._ "

But Lovino didn't tell Laurinitis that he was the one to advise the fight with Braginski. That he delights when Eduard stands his ground against him.

"Vargas said that sex is the only thing the bitch seems to understand! That apparently you've offered it to him before." Laurinitis leans over him, close enough to feel the body heat radiating off him, but not close enough that he touches him. Only the tickling brush of his uniform is present on Eduard's bare flesh. "Is that so? In exchange for what?" purrs Laurinitis in Eduard's ear.

Eduard says nothing. Anything he says will get immediately to Braginski.

"Fine, don't tell me," says Laurinitis. "We'll find out eventually. Stupid of you, anyway, I don't know why you'd have anything to do with Vargas. Nasty fellow."

Oh? "What do you mean?"

"His case file's inches thick," Laurinitis drawls. His fingers twist inside Eduard. "Five counts of murder in the first-degree alone, among a slew of atrocities. I'm sure it was a happy day for the precinct that booked him. He shouldn't be in a place like this with his crimes, except that he's got _money_. One of the major kingpins of the Vargas crime family? Don't tell me you didn't put that together."

Of course he did. It's part of why he talks to Lovino. The other part is that, for all the machismo the mafia usually espouses, Lovino never seemed to be like that. Lovino was significantly more sly.

...Which is why Laurinitis' words about what Lovino said sounds like a ploy. Either Laurinitis is lying about what Lovino said, to humiliate or anger Eduard into giving Lovino up, or Lovino spewed the vitriol himself. And the only reason he'd do that would be to hide something else.

And Lovino knew Laurinitis would tell Eduard, if Lovino didn't say anything about their connection. In order to find that information, Laurinitis would go after Eduard. Certainly, Laurinitis perceives him as an easier nut to crack than Lovino. Lovino's done Laurinitis' 'bad cop' work for him by pretending to give Eduard up.

Assuming he's pretending.

"You know, he told me to make an example of you, to make you see where you stand in a place like this. He said you need it because you're not getting it from van Dijk anymore. That you're still getting it from Oxenstierna. But perhaps not for much longer." Eduard can hear the grin in Laurinitis' voice, and can feel the poorly-contained control in his fingers.

"I have to say, though," adds Laurinitis, "if that's the case, then you're the first one who's needed it. Maybe you really do like this sort of thing. I've heard of people with addictions like that." He twists his fingers the other way and pulls them out, before he pushes them in softly again. This is no cavity search, this is _fingering_ , because Laurinitis is gentler, he has an edge of tenderness, and he's taking his time, compared to the last time they did this to him, on his first day of prison.

And Eduard's squirming. His thighs tremble, and between them hangs his cock, heavy and half-hard. "Are you a little addicted, then?" breathes Laurinitis.

Humiliating that he should get off on this, on his own subjugation. Laurinitis just has to quirk his fingers so and he could have Eduard twitching and there's nothing Eduard can do about it. Did Braginski share such information with Laurinitis?

It's obvious. Laurinitis is trying to intimidate him. Humiliate him. Make him doubt Lovino so that he can pry the information about their relationship out of Eduard.

No, Lovino saying such nasty things about him makes perfect sense! If Lovino had suspected that Braginski was getting ideas, that's what he'd do, wouldn't he? Talk a big, insulting show about the bitch. Nothing says it louder or clearer: _we're not friends. I don't respect him._

So Laurinitis spotted Lovino on the way back to the workroom. Who else could have informed Braginski about that?

Dr Bonnefoy? According to Laurinitis, the doctor kept silent. According to Dr Bonnefoy, however, Braginski threatens him for information all the time. He probably enjoys greater success than Laurinitis does. Likely, Laurinitis didn't try bribery or threats. But Braginski hasn't needed doctor's services in some time, unless he accompanied someone, perhaps his druggie friends, Beilschmidt, or maybe Sadik -

Ah! _Sadik_ told Lovino, didn't he? Sadik was the one who told Lovino what happened between them and Eduard, and on Sadik's word did Lovino rush to book that appointment.

(And really, could that be misconstrued? As much as Lovino sneering about him hurts, it's just words. His actions tell a different story. Lovino put himself at risk when he booked that appointment for Eduard. The pros don't even a little bit outweigh the cons. It was dangerous, and _Lovino did it anyway_. Eduard's cheeks warm. Laurinitis' fingers in his ass aren't helping.)

Involving Laurinitis gets information back to Braginski using Braginski's trusted source. If Laurinitis is unconvinced of a relationship between Lovino and Eduard, he would say so to Braginski. So Lovino running his mouth deflects attention from himself.

And who attracts attention the best? The bitch. All attention on Eduard, none on Lovino, and all Lovino has to do is scorn Eduard to Laurinitis.

If Lovino talks like the bitch offers him nothing but a free ride because he's a cock-addicted whore (and he really is, because his face has inflamed at the thought as Laurinitis' fingers thrust in and out of him in a delicious slow drag that has him light-headed and panting), then there's no room for anything but trade between them. And he's too busy sneering to give away any truths about the actual relationship between Lovino and Eduard.

The problem is that Lovino can shout all he wants. Even _rumours_ of something other than trade will piss Braginski off.

Laurinitis knows that. Laurinitis would rather have no relation between Lovino and Eduard. He knows that if there are any such rumours, Braginski will hunt down Lovino next, because he's been spotted too close to the bitch. Lovino has something of a gang here on the inside. That could start a riot. Laurinitis should greatly prefer, then, pacifying Braginski out of an attack on Lovino by using Eduard. Especially if Laurinitis could have prevented it and didn't, because he was too busy trying to pacify an unruly monster of a prisoner with boys.

"And what did Braginski's other boys do?" asks Eduard. Because they probably didn't cant their hips back to fuck themselves on Braginski's favourite guard's fingers.

"I'm so glad you asked," says Laurinitis wryly. "He has his way with them -" Laurinitis jabs his fingers in and curls them up in a swift motion across Eduard's prostate, and Eduard clenches his lips closed to keep from moaning - "and then things get a little rough, when they don't behave. Then they transfer out of here. If Braginski gets what he wants, he behaves for us. If his boys behave for him, they don't get too badly hurt. It's a win for everybody."

"Yeah, it's not a win for the people who get gangraped," whispers Eduard. Laurinitis spreads his fingers wider, his thumb nestled in the space between the spread cheeks of Eduard's ass. He gasps in a breath.

"Well. They have a few months in hell, maybe," admits Laurinitis.

"That's saying the least," says Eduard hotly.

"Don't defend them!" Laurinitis exclaims. "Rapists, pedophiles? They weren't innocents! They got what they deserved. And they walked out of here better than when they'd walked in, after getting a taste of their own medicine!"

Because they were expendable! Eduard refuses to let that be him!

_Eduard's_ here on fraud! Stealing money is one thing. He'd never dream of doing the things to another person that have been done to him! Does Eduard deserve this? Does Berwald deserve what _he_ got? Does Lovino deserve HIV? (Does anyone?) How was that similar to the crimes he could have committed?

Seeing red, Eduard snaps, without thinking. "You know, nobody deserves to walk into prison and walk out with incurable diseases, and as for me -"

He shuts his mouth closed. He shouldn't have said that. He should _not_ have said that.

Laurinitis presses close and the movement of his fingers mutates to reward. It makes Eduard gasp. "A- _haaa_ ," Laurinitis crows, his voice velvet-soft. He strokes softly and more of Eduard's composure flees him. "Go on."

For someone so under Braginski's control, Laurinitis is incredibly successful in his own manipulations. "There's n- _ahn_ , there's nothing to tell!" Eduard moans.

"But you _do_ know each other! Because I'm certain Vargas doesn't tell every bitch these things. Now, did this come up before, or after you fucked him? Hmm?"

"I- I meant myself!" Eduard stammers. It's still technically true. He won't know for some time whether he tests positive for anything. The best tomorrow's appointment with the doctor will promise is if Willem can coax answers about Sadik and Beilschmidt's recent tests. If they're negative, he's likely negative too. Until then, it's Schrödinger's STDs. "Whatever I did to get in here, I never deserved this."

Alas, Laurinitis remains unconvinced. "No? I haven't seen your file, but I've seen Vargas', and he's more than deserved what he got. And if he didn't want a disease, he shouldn't have used a dirty needle! If he couldn't get a clean needle, he shouldn't have done drugs! If he couldn't cope with prison life without the sharp high of dangerous intoxicants, then he shouldn't have committed the crimes that sent him to jail!"

Laurinitis' movements grow jerky and uncontrolled as his hold on his temper slips, since Eduard is stalling again instead of speaking, and he pushes his fingers into Eduard deep, twisting his hand to graze his fingertips across Eduard's prostate. It feels horrifically good and Eduard is shaking and panting, gripping the desk to stay upright because his legs are so totally jellied they can't hold him up. At last Eduard gives in and collapses chest-first onto the desk, pressed against paperwork. If Laurinitis continues like this, he'll probably make him come.

"And if you did mean yourself," continues Laurinitis viciously, "though I don't buy it! - then maybe you shouldn't have routinely slept with three different men, whored your body out to another for payment for a tattoo - _oh_ , what _were_ you thinking - and attracted the attention of two known drug-users, hm? When all you had to do was stay quiet and keep your head down like Ivan's other boys did and let justice take its course!"

"You make it sound so easy," whimpers Eduard.

"Everyone in here who's in misery has made their bed, you're no different!" cries Laurinitis, triumphant and venomous, shifting against the backs of Eduard's thighs and pressing in deeper. "It's time to lie in it!"

"And is this the treatment they all got? I didn't get sent here for rape, or murder, or pedophilia, or anything! Then why me?"

Laurinitis shrugs. Eduard can feel it in the way the muscles of his fingers, which he has up Eduard's ass, shift and move. It crooks his fingers up and Eduard gasps. "You got unlucky," he says. "Maybe you remind him of someone he knew. Someone he hated. It doesn't help that you can't submit."

Sure, or maybe they found an easy scapegoat and are willing to explain away his being thrown to the wolves. A grunt escapes him. Laurinitis has driven his fingers in deeply again and it prods Eduard closer to climax. "And how'd the others - _hah_ \- manage a transfer? Out of compassion?"

"You can't transfer out of here until you do something to merit it," says Laurinitis. "Which they did. They got into trouble." Eduard is certain he means the final abuse that Braginski unleashes upon those he's tired of, when he doles them out to the hungry crowd of vultures, keen for meat. "They were lucky their sentences weren't significantly extended. They would have been, if it hadn't been for the fact that only Ivan's boys get hurt."

"Which doesn't surprise you at all," says Eduard.

Laurinitis sighs. At last he slows. "I don't ask any questions, anymore. I want a long life. And you know what gets you a long life, Eduard? Not striking back at Ivan." His thumb makes a broad sweep across the curve of one cheek, an oddly comforting gesture. "You could have had your transfer by now," implores Laurinitis, "if you'd only just let him do what he wanted!"

At the price of an extended sentence, and his utter humiliation and likely severe physical trauma, being broken by a mob of men.

No, Eduard will take mental chess any day.

In fact...

He'll _gladly_ take it. He's got to hand it to Braginski, it's a lot more entertaining than rereading the books in the library. Eduard needs something to occupy his mind. Braginski more than occupies his mind. It's a fucking delight to out-strategise him. And it's going to be a fucking delight when he _wins_. Because he _will win_. Watch all their faces - guards and prisoners alike - when that happens. Next time, back the right horse!

He realises the thought of victory has him pushing back on Laurinitis' fingers, now that he's slowed his pace, fucking himself on them.

Well, Lovino already warned Eduard: he implied Laurinitis should fuck Eduard. If Laurinitis does, then he's blackmailable - there are no cameras in here, so no proof, it would be Laurinitis' against Eduard's word, and the fact that he's been allowed here at all is surprising - why, Laurinitis' keyring is lying right next to the keyboard. And that security system! Things prisoners shouldn't see.

"You _do_ enjoy this," murmurs Laurinitis hoarsely. "Just look at you."

"Yes, well," moans Eduard. "Are you going to go anywhere with it, or do you only tease?" Eduard looks back over his shoulder. Laurinitis makes an appealing picture. He's breathing hard, his lips are parted and reddened and moistened, his pupils are dilated, his hair is falling out of its short ponytail, and most of all, his trousers are tented between his legs. Judging by the size, he _really_ wants this.

_Do it_ , thinks Eduard. _Do it and damn us both. Let me drag you down with me._

But Laurinitis at once seems to realise what physical changes have been brought to him. "N-no, I - I just," he says, shaken. "I'm only doing this because - it isn't a real search, obviously. But I know Ivan will check to see that I've used you the way he thinks I want to."

Eduard raises his eyebrows. "Then, you don't? You don't look it."

Laurinitis is shocked into silence. "No, I'm no criminal. If I were, I'd be in here," he says at last, though his fingers are still inside Eduard, who didn't ask Laurinitis to put them there. "Even if you want this, even if you need it - and god help you, you look like you do - you're a prisoner, under my guard. That isn't right."

"That doesn't explain why you're - ah," Eduard cants his hips back and Laurinitis' fingers slide deeper into him. "You don't have to do it quite so -"

"Hm?" asks Laurinitis. As though asking permission (now, of all times) he strokes a finger further, crooking it against Eduard's prostate. Eduard moans, and Laurinitis' cheeks flush a pretty pink.

"You certainly took your time," finishes Eduard. Laurinitis doesn't have to try and get him off, is what he means. "You could have been rough. Expedient. If you were, it wouldn't have made me like this. You knew that."

"Well," says Laurinitis. "I told you, I had to do it, didn't I? Or Ivan would know. But I won't hurt you when you don't deserve it."

At last he removes himself from Eduard's body. Eduard feels bereft.

"Then you do agree," Eduard says, turning around. He has to keep his hands on the desk because his legs are still too unstable. "Maybe I didn't deserve what I've been given."

Laurinitis removes the glove. "I didn't say that. But as much as I wish you'd fall in line and make it easier for us all by submitting to Ivan. But you don't deserve such a treatment from me."

Now it's Eduard's turn to purr. "I see," he says. "And what do I have to do to deserve that treatment from you?" He hoists himself onto the desk, on top of its carpet of papers. He leans back and spreads his legs. Laurinitis watches him, and lets out a shaky breath. His eyes seem glued to Eduard's cock - hard and aching and leaking - and below it his glistening hole.

There's a knock at the door.

"Toris, man, are you done in there or what? It's been like fifteen minutes." It's Asparuhov.

"Yes," calls Laurinitis. He tosses the glove in the trash. "Go on," he says softly to Eduard, "put your clothes on."

"You shouldn't tease, Toris," says Eduard with a sly grin.

"And you shouldn't flirt. Come on." Laurinitis gives him a flat look. "And think about what I've said, please."

"It's locked. You got the keys, man. Look, can I send Braginski in or not?" shouts Asparuhov. "He said he's got some kinda business with you."

Eyes narrowed, Laurinitis adjusts himself first, obscuring his erection as best he can, before he walks over to the door and opens it. Braginski pushes his way in, barging into the office like it's his.

Asparuhov peeks around Braginski's massive frame and spots Eduard, nude on the table. "What the -"

"Cavity search," interrupts Laurinitis. "Then he made himself comfy."

"Oh. Okay," says Asparuhov, and then backtracks. "Wait. That's not any of my paperwork he's sitting on, is it?"

Laurinitis shakes his head. Asparuhov still seems unsure, but after a moment's consideration, shrugs.

Braginski looks Eduard up and down and arrives at his eyes. "You can leave now, Boris," says Braginski huskily, keeping his gaze with Eduard perfectly level.

Eduard isn't sure if he likes that nasty look in Braginski's eyes or hates it, but it's making his cock twitch. His legs spread wide and his nakedness makes the movement obvious. But Braginski keeps their gazes locked, so if he catches it out of the corner of his eyes, he doesn't show it.

"Don't worry about me. Toris will walk us both back. I'll be a good boy for him tonight." Braginski smiles wide. "A very good boy."

Asparuhov's glance darts from Braginski to Eduard to Laurinitis again. "Poor bitch is getting what's coming to him, huh," he says. "Didja tell him to stop fighting?"

"Lord knows I tried," says Laurinitis.

"Hmm, it's a tough lesson," says Braginski, then adds with a lewd tone, "you need to really ram it into him."

Asparuhov chuckles. Laurinitis doesn't even crack a smile.

Braginski snorts. "Oh come on, Toris! You are so serious!"

"Yeah, man, lighten up. Look, are we done here?" asks Asparuhov.

" _You_ are done here," says Braginski. "I am sure they need you with headcounts. I want to talk to Toris, though. Few more minutes?"

"No, we've finished," Laurinitis says flatly.

"Did you really?" murmurs Braginski, eyeing Laurinitis' crotch. He turns to Asparuhov. "A little time," he says, and then, holding his index and thumb close together, says sweetly, "Thiiiis much!"

"Fine, but don't let it cut in to lockdown too much. If they're not back in half an hour, their time tomorrow is extended." Asparuhov leaves, and shuts the door behind him.

Braginski smiles a grimace, or grimaces a smile. It's hard to say which.

"Wow!" he says. He walks around the desk slowly, considering immobile Eduard like he's a particularly perplexing sculpture. "What a good thing you take so long to do anything, Toris. If he had dropped me off when you were balls deep in my bitch, I don't think he would have liked it."

Laurinitis sounds tired. "Ivan, we're finished here."

"I think it's quite obvious you didn't finish anything. And I can tell _he_ didn't." A hand claps Eduard on the shoulder and he jerks in surprise. "He is not so nervous after he's come. And I know, Toris, you're a gentleman, you don't like to hurt people, you'd want to make him come around you."

"I already took what you wanted me to," says Laurinitis.

"You're lyiii-ing," says Braginski. He draws nearer to Eduard and wraps his arm around Eduard's chest from behind, then pinches his nipple to hardness, and then continues until Eduard can't stay still anymore and squirms upon the desk. "I don't think you took anything at all. Did he, Edik?"

Eduard finds it hard to speak.

"You want something that will keep me in line, yes? Well." Braginski continues toying with Eduard's nipple, rolling it around with his thumbpad, pinching it softly between two fingers. When one is fully erect, he moves across to the other, which tucks Eduard closer to him. "It will make me happy to see you so happy, my friend! You are always so stressed. So uptight! Like you never have any fun. Like you never get laid."

"Th-that's neither here nor there," says Laurinitis.

"So, you should take the bitch. I understand, you know I'm possessive." Of him? A hot rush flows through Eduard, like his whole body is blushing, and his heart pounds in his chest. "You were concerned for my feelings. That's very thoughtful! But you mustn't worry! I don't mind loaning him out, as long as I know to whom, and when. I must control all of it, you see. Every transaction."

Yes. Control.

"Edik, darling, a little wider here, hm? Put your feet up on the desk to draw your knees up - that's it. Let him see you! All of you. Now, Toris. I have seen how all watch him here, their greedy eyes, and look! Now you have him in front of you, naked. His legs spread. Isn't he a pretty picture? All for you. He will beg for you too, if you like. Hm? Do you want him to touch you, Eduard?"

Eduard doesn't reply.

Braginski twists a nipple violently.

"Aagh -" he yelps, half-strangled shout, half-moan. "Y-yes, hah, yes."

"Beg," Braginski says, and twists again.

"Please!" cries Eduard.

"Well, Toris?" Braginski rolls the abused nub between his fingers. Every single touch plummets to Eduard's groin. "He is asking you so nicely. I know you like men."

Laurinitis is the picture of shock. "I'm n-not -"

"It wouldn't matter if you were, you are on the right side of the bars, my friend!" chuckles Braginski. "You should stay that way. And remind him here -" he twists the nipple again, less hard this time, and Eduard's moan feels yanked from the base of his throat - "which side he is on, as well. Go on."

A beat passes. Braginski makes himself comfortable on the desk, perching behind Eduard. "You don't mind if I watch, yes? I want to make sure you are doing, as I am asking so nicely."

Even if Laurinitis did, it's clear he has no choice in the matter.

"Remember," adds Braginski, "making you happy makes me happy. And when I am happy, I behave."

There is a look of helpless apology in Laurinitis' eyes. Eduard tries to reply it - somehow, anyhow - but he isn't sure the message gets across given that his dick is standing proudly between his spread legs, aching for touch.

Braginski coaxes Eduard backwards until he is leaned back on Braginski's shoulder as support. "There," says Braginski, viewed upside down from above, with a big smile and greedy eyes. "Very good." He reaches around once more to pinch his nipples.

It fuels an itch he cannot scratch, with his arms pinned under Braginski's. Every touch of Braginski's on his flesh makes him squrm but on these it's especially bad, like each one is live wire connected to his cock, and at the press of these buttons alone, Braginski can control his cock as the sensations shoot from there to his groin in mad electrification.

There is another touch at his asshole again. It can't be Laurinitis' fingers, because these he has gripped around Eduard's hips. He pushes in until the head of his (surprisingly fat) cock has pressed past Eduard's hole and Eduard relaxes a bit around it.

"God," exhales Laurinitis shakily, his expression torn. "That's - ahh..."

"I knew you'd think so," says Braginski proudly. Laurinitis pushes in farther, bit by bit. Every time he does he stops. "Been awhile, hasn't it," Braginski gloats. "You have great restraint, I admire that!"

"You know, I really don't need the commentary," mutters Laurinitis.

"But I do!" says Braginski. "Besides! I'm helping. If I keep talking, maybe you'll get the idea and start fucking him already! I want you to give my bitch something to think about for the next few days."

Oh, Eduard will be thinking about it, alright. It's not every day Braginski loans him out. But it's becoming a re-occurrence and that has to stop before Braginski gets any other ideas about it.

Braginski's supposed to be _fixated_ upon him! Braginski's supposed to _need_ him the way he needs Braginski, at least in some modality, it doesn't matter which one!

"And maybe," continues Braginski, "you can use that for your own conscience! 'I had to fuck the bitch, because Vanya wouldn't shut up! Not my fault!' You like it better when it's not your fault, don't you, Toris!"

But it is, because through Laurinitis' and the other guards' complacency have they created this monster who holds power over them. Eduard doesn't pity them. They made their bed, they can lie in it. Isn't that how Laurinitis put it?

Laurinitis bottoms out at last, his hips pressed against the back of Eduard's thighs and ass. He's in deep, and when he thrusts he remains deep. Laurinitis retreats what can't be more than an inch, a fraction of an inch, not even, before he slides back in full. And slide is a misnomer because the friction is a hot burn, and the force with which he does it is enough that his balls graze against the sensitive skin of Eduard's thighs. If the root of his cock weren't so thick, it'd be almost pleasurable.

But then a wayward thrust hits him in the places he likes best, and being split apart, impaled to the hilt begins to grow appealing.

"Toris," says Braginski, "are you sure you're enjoying yourself? Edik always moans like a cat in heat but still you make hardly a noise, and you look like this hurts you!"

Indeed, Eduard looks up at Laurinitis, whose eyes are clenched shut and whose face is locked in a contortion of a grimace. He looks very upset. He looks like he doesn't want to enjoy this as much as he does. Like he wishes it weren't pleasurable.

Braginski reaches around and flicks Eduard's right nipple, and Eduard jumps, just as Laurinitis is sinking back into him. The small jerk of Eduard's muscles pistons him forward onto Laurinitis' cock and pushes it in the rest of the way, forcing him deep inside again. The faintest, saddest broken moan escapes Laurinitis' lips and his hips, pressed up close against Eduard's, are trembling, the weight of his balls heavy where they swing against Eduard. "Fuck," moans Laurinitis, "d-don't, don't do that -"

Which of course is reason enough for Braginski to do exactly that.

Braginski reaches around and in a moment has both of Eduard's nipples in his pinches, tight and painful with a hot sharp edge of pleasure that jolts him in the groin. "Fuck," whines Eduard, as Laurinitis moans, "Oh - _ah_ , yess."

Behind them, Braginski chuckles low in Eduard's ear. The abuse on his nipples has him squirming again, this time anchored by Laurinitis' cock as he is, his efforts are in vain and only result in Laurinitis being skewered into him as Eduard twitches and writhes. Eduard feels like he can feel him everywhere. He feels filled from side to side. He feels like he can feel the head of him deep in his gut, though it can't be true, as Laurinitis continues to fuck him more deep than hard or anything else, with little drilling thrusts that drive him deeper.

But it must be what Laurinitis likes, because he's out of breath and moaning softly _sotto voce_ , his lips parted as he bends over Eduard onto the desk.

Or is it? "Can't," whispers Laurinitis. "I can't... I won't..." He's trying to stave off orgasm as long as he can. Why? _Silly_ , thinks Eduard. Just get it over with. Rip off the bandage already. Then go home and lick your wounds. That's what he's learnt. Though, it's admirable of Laurinitis to try and regain some control of the situation. So much for his thesis of 'Let Braginski do what he wants', when he really has no hope.

"That's it," coos Braginski, "just like that. He likes it when you come in him." Braginski licks up Eduard's cheek, and then, when Eduard turns his face away to get further from it, he licks the side of Eduard's neck. A full body shiver sets his skin goosepimply, and hot on the heels of that, he flushes. The things Braginski's tongue on his body does to him should be illegal. His cock is heavy between his legs as he twists upon Laurinitis', begging for attention, nigh on fucking the air, and it is testament to his desperation that it prods him closer to coming. "Don't you, Edik? I'd like it too. I wouldn't let anybody else do it but you, Toris. We have an understanding, you and I, and now this is part of it. I'm happy to share this with you. I share with my friends!"

"I won't do this," says Toris. "Are you satisfied yet? It's been five minutes, that's enough for you, surely. I don't like to be tormented."

"I am not tormenting you! Toris, darling, it's a gift! You don't want to come?" says Braginski with a pout in his voice. He tries Eduard's nipples again but no amount of squirming or moaning on Eduard's part will make Laurinitis move. It's even more infuriating than the way he thrusts! Eduard would truly fuck the air if he thought it might make him come.

Part of him finds it hot, to have Braginski so controlling his asshole and body that he could make Eduard spurt like a fountain without a single touch and spill all over his own stomach. He wouldn't be able to do that if he didn't know Eduard as well as he did, would he? It means he's been paying attention to Eduard! At least to his body.

"I'm not satisfied until you're satisfied, Toris," says Braginski. "And you're not."

"N-no. I _won't_ do this," Laurinitis says, enraged. His anger is a quiet controlled palpability as he says firmly, "This is too far." He removes himself from Eduard's body and stands there, arms folded across his chest.

Even Braginski seems to realise he's serious. "Well," he says. "You try to do something nice for someone and they throw it in your face like this. I am disappointed." Laurinitis pales.

"Come! Maybe something else will entice you." Braginski claps Eduard on the shoulder. "Turn over, darling. On your hands and knees. You can stay on the desk if you like. See?" he adds, to Laurinitis. "I am generous. I give options. Choices! You have a little room to decide!"

"How generous," says Eduard, as he gets into position. A thought occurs to him, and he nudges his hands closer to Laurinitis' keyring. Not grabbing it - not yet. "But he has to pick one of them."

Braginski laughs aloud. "My little bitch has learnt his lessons after all! That is precisely what I was going to say." He walks over to the side of the desk where Laurinitis is. Between his legs, Eduard watches. Laurinitis shrinks smaller and smaller as Braginski draws nearer. When Braginski finally has approached him, too close for comfort, too close for personal space, he towers over Laurinitis and says, "Now, since you don't want his ass, how about his mouth? Go on, other side."

Laurinitis doesn't move. He stares Braginski down.

" _Do it!_ " shrieks Braginski suddenly, and both Laurinitis and Eduard jolt. For all his earlier firmness, Laurinitis hobbles obediently into position on the other side of the desk where Eduard's face is.

Braginski behind him, Laurinitis in front. Eduard suspects he knows exactly where this is going and the terror is surpassed in an instant by his renewed arousal. His mouth waters and his dick twitches between his legs. A soft low moan escapes him, as easy as exhalation.

"I told you he wants it," says Braginski, and Laurinitis' big green eyes widen.

The blunt head of Laurinitis' cock presents itself in front of Eduard's face. Laurinitis, when he glances up from the desk, looks worried and troubled. Though his cock is still hard, his worried face begs it still: _you don't have to do this. I don't want you to do this. Please don't do this._

Part of Eduard doesn't want to. Hell, Laurinitis was just in his ass. That's filthy. Did he use a condom? Eduard couldn't tell. He didn't hear him open one.

The other part is eyeing Laurinitis' lube-shiny cock like it's fucking edible. He wants it in his mouth. It was just in his ass - oh, how _filthy_. He shivers. And as Braginski behind him helps himself to Eduard's lube, then lines himself up and happily sinks in, he finds he _needs_ it in his mouth. He so badly loves this, craves it.

"That's right," says Braginski, as Laurinitis' cock comes closer and closer to Eduard's face. "Feed it to him." The blunt head nudges against his lips, and presses against it. Eduard sucks the head inside.

He's careful not to swallow. It gets spit and drool everywhere and this is one of the messier, wetter blowjobs he's given. Somehow, it arouses him more. Laurinitis tastes only like lube, so Eduard still can't tell whether he used a condom. As humiliating as it should be to have it in his mouth when it was just in his ass not two minutes prior, Braginski's merry thrusts, deep and delicious, remind him that he is to be _used_ , as Laurinitis uses him from the other side.

Skewered on both as he is, Eduard shakes, his thighs trembling, his skin on fire. It's so good. It's _so good_ , and as Laurinitis buries his fingers in Eduard's hair, his nails dragging pleasantly on Eduard's scalp - so shivery brilliant he can feel it between his shoulder blades and down his back - his groin twitches and he moans. His hips snap up, burying Braginski further inside him.

Braginski plunges himself gleefully forward - perhaps helplessly, because he groans low in his throat and Eduard's cock is pretty sure the sound of Braginski's voiced pleasure feels like praise. It knocks Eduard face first into Laurinitis. The air leaves his lungs in a thrilling rush as the head of Laurinitis' cock hits the back of his throat. Eduard doesn't choke, unbelievably, maybe because he's too turned on to react, maybe because he really doesn't mind how deep Laurinitis _does_ likes to fuck, and his hips push back against Braginski, fucking himself properly on him until he can feel him everywhere - used, _used_ -

\- and that's it, his head is spinning, his moans are uncontrollable, and the pressure between his legs finally releases and he comes hard, spilling messily over the paperwork on Laurinitis' desk. Orgasm lasts the longest he feels it's ever lasted and for five? ten? he doesn't know how many seconds he is convulsing with pleasure, around Braginski's cock in his ass, around Laurinitis' cock in his mouth. He can't stop his voice and he's sure that if he didn't have his mouth full, he would be shrieking.

At last it subsides, and he is left with the overstimulation of Braginski still thrusting happily behind him. He has sped up, and his hands are shaky in their grip, one on Eduard's hip, the other digging into an ass cheek, gripping it hard enough to bruise. His mouth is filled with a bitter thick taste as Laurinitis finally releases with a sharp helpless whine.

"Good," says Braginski, "that's more like it!"

Laurinitis pulls out too fast, horrified with himself. So none of what he left in Eduard's mouth gets swallowed. Much of his come lingers on his cock, dripping off it onto the desk, onto the floor, the rest is on Eduard's lips. He licks it off.

"I shouldn't have," says Laurinitis, shaking miserably and in shock. "I- I'm sor-"

"Don't be!" bellows Braginski. "It's what a bitch is _used for!_ " Eduard licks his lips again. Laurinitis is too busy feeling sorry for himself to see. Braginski pants and grunts through his release inside Eduard's ass.

At last he pulls out. Eduard hears the thunk of something in the trash bin.

"There," says Braginski, "now, isn't that better?" Eduard looks behind him; Braginski has already righted himself and, satisfied, brushes his hands together in the self-congratulatory manner of a job well done.

"Get out," mutters Laurinitis. He wipes off the come from his dick, then grabs the nearest piece of paper and smears the come upon it, before he dumps the whole thing in the trash. He tucks himself back into his uniform trousers but for all his composure regained, his red face betrays what has happened. "Both of you. Get out of my sight."

"Sorry, Toris! You can't sit here and cry about it, you still have to take us back to lockdown! You're not rid of me yet." Braginski saunters around the desk and pats Laurinitis' cheek. As he does it, Eduard seizes his opportunity - the keyring - and covers it with his hand. "Probably, you'll never be rid of me!"

Laurinitis snaps. Like lightning, he grabs one of Braginski's wrists and wrenches it behind Braginski's back. The keyring makes a jingle sound as Eduard grabs it in his fist, then another as he tucks it quickly into the ankle of his sock when he slips it on. But Laurinitis or Braginski don't appear to hear it over their own altercation. Laurinitis says nothing but his face is still bright and his eyes furious. But he must know Braginski's right. "Get dressed," he snaps at Eduard.

"I am," explains Eduard patiently. He puts on the other sock, tucks his lube back into it - not the condom, for it's been opened and the wrapper lies empty on the desk - and then gingerly steps into the shoes, tucking his sock around the keys and pinning them down. The keyring makes no noise.

Outside of view from Laurinitis, Braginski rolls his eyes and winks at Eduard, who continues pulling on his clothing. His other arm he placidly places behind his back to help Laurinitis along, as Laurinitis cuffs his hands.

"This never happened," continues Laurinitis.

"Whatever you must tell yourself, Toris," says Braginski sweetly.

Laurinitis frogmarches Braginski out of the G-rooms and back down the halls. When he reaches their wing, he pulls out a separate keyring to access it, and then later another separate keyring to unlock their cell. Yet another Laurinitis uses on the handcuffs around their wrists.

Surely he won't miss one set for one night. Eduard follows meekly, moving awkwardly to keep his own prize from making noise.

"Sweet dreams," calls out Braginski from between the bars, as Laurinitis leaves. Laurinitis flushes again but says nothing.

Eduard spends the first part of lockdown in silence. Braginski - for some beautiful reason - leaves him alone.  


* * *

It's well after lights out and Eduard is drifting off to sleep when he hears the creak of the ladder between his and Braginski's bunks, and then feels a dip in his mattress as an extra weight slips in. There's a warmth along his back as Braginski - it's his unmistakable smell - presses himself close. From the feel of it, he's wearing nothing.

"Hello, my little friend," says Braginski in Russian.

"So. Couldn't sleep?" guesses Eduard. "Well, get on with it, I'm exhausted. Your little friend tired me out." Also, the longer Braginski stays in his bunk, the more chance Braginski might hear the clink of metal. Laurinitis' keys are stuffed in a sock under Eduard's mattress.

"Edik!" admonishes Braginski. Eduard can't see his face but his voice is mock-aghast. He's probably pouting. "You are so forward! And here I am only for company. I assure you, my intentions are quite pure. It's a nice night for a chat, don't you think?"

"You never want only a chat," says Eduard. Braginski chuckles low and throaty in his ear. "Then say your bit and let me in peace."

"You have been playing around with fire," says Braginski, as he reaches around and undoes the buttons on Eduard's jumpsuit. "You know what they say about people who play with fire, hmm?"

"That it's a great vantage point to toast marshmallows," says Eduard dully. Although he cranes his neck high as Braginski sinks his teeth in the side. Braginski clamps his jaws down on a muscle and it heads well past pleasureable and dives into painful.

"Such people risk getting burned," says Braginski once his mouth is free, "and I am the one who will burn you for it." Braginski strips him to his hips. Eduard allows it and pulls the clothing the rest of the way off, along with his underwear. No point in arguing or fighting. Only his undershirts remain, and Braginski, cuddled up close behind him, takes the liberty of hiking them up past his nipples so he can play with them.

Braginski is hard behind him. Eduard's not sure whether it's the stimulation from Braginski's hands or the presence of his erection, hot and nestled between Eduard's thighs, the head of it just behind his balls, that has his own groin pulsing in response, hard within seconds. "Or, since you seem to have dispensed with all self-preservation, perhaps I will go after your little friend," adds Braginski. "He was useful once, but has outlived his usefulness."

"I don't have any friends," says Eduard, as he shudders in Braginski's arms. "You've seen to that."

"I tire of you mouthing off to me," says Braginski, and pinches him hard. Eduard can't stifle the cry it wrenches from him. "Shhh," whispers Braginski, keeping him close, soothing away the sharp pain of the pinch with a softer brush of his fingers, as he thrusts between Eduard's legs, "we don't want the guards to come running, do we? You already make their lives hard enough. Wake the rest of the wing, see how much they like you." He twists the nipple again, violently, but Eduard clamps his lips shut.

"You know," continues Braginski, "speaking of the guards, they keep a close watch on your friend. Because for him to receive a knife in the gut, what a terrible tragedy for the rather influential Vargas family, they would be angry! And then some very important people would become angry. But their protection, as you can see, is not inviolable. And there are no laws here but my laws." Braginski pushes his nude, hard cock between Eduard's thighs. "Come, Edik. Where do you put your slick?" He removes his hand from Eduard's chest to fumble around the edges of the mattress.

Shit! He could find the keys! Eduard quickly reaches down below to the other side of the mattress where he stashes the lube and yanks it free. Behind him, he hears a metallic clink. Braginski stops moving. "Here," says Eduard, as he hands it to Braginski.

"Fetch! Yield! Good boy," coos Braginski, distracted for the moment. Eduard exhales slowly.

"If someone isn't useful to me anymore, I see no reason to keep them around. I can dispense with them, can't I? It's a waste of my time!" Surely, that goes double for Eduard. "I wonder when you will realise that, my little one. When will you realise that you must play by my rules? Or I will destroy you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," says Eduard again.

Braginski shoves his thighs apart and pushes in in a single hard thrust. No stretching, no prep, nothing but the use of a little lube that he was probably lucky to get. Eduard stifles his grunt and tries to relax. "Toris caught that greasy little meatball heading back to work after being granted permission to be let out early to go to the doctor's," hisses Braginski, under the strain of pleasure. "So, Eduard! Why did he return?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," mutters Eduard.

"He must have made that appointment for you. How kind of him! Did you give him anything for that?" Braginski pulls out and shoves in again, hard. "Your nice, tight asshole?" Braginski reaches up to trace his lips. "Your hot mouth?"

Nothing, of course. "Suppose he went himself and was quickly finished?" says Eduard. If his tongue happens to hit Braginski's fingertips, it's surely a coincidence. He lets himself dwell in the pleasure of the salt flavour of them and Braginski's next thrust feels good.

"Who would go back to work? For a whole ten minutes? Besides, the doctor complained to me that twenty minutes is not enough advance notice for an appointment. I had not known he had had any such notice! I had thought that Willem had made the appointment, since the doctor was so kind to disclose that he sat the appointment with you. But more to the point I can find out from the doctor tomorrow who booked that appointment. Perhaps I will do so!"

"You didn't have enough fun with your little guard, trying to bully the doctor into giving you information?"

"Toris doesn't employ my methods. The doctor doesn't like to tell me too many things when the guards are there. But Toris can sink to my level -" Braginski says, as he sinks into Eduard - "that much is clear. And the doctor is not so good at keeping secrets."

Eduard takes the first two fingers in his mouth and sucks them gently. "And what else have you found out from the doctor, hmm?"

"I know that you won't get so lucky next time. And there will be a next time," growls Braginski. "Next time you think you'll get smart, I know which ones have something you don't want to get. You know what I mean?"

So it's as he thought! "You don't need condoms," says Eduard, tonguing Braginski between his fingers. "You never needed condoms, after they took me. You knew they were both clean because you got that information from the doctor."

" _I'm_ the one who gets to ruin you," says Braginski. "No one else." Eduard moans helplessly in his arms.

"And instead do you know what that Turkish fuck says to me? That Turkish fuck who should be grateful, because I let _Gilbert_ have you, not Sadik, since god knows Gilbert wouldn't shut the fuck up about you." Braginski grunts and adds, as afterthought, "He'd probably like a boy himself, but he's already ruined, I don't want anything he can offer me and he's more useful as a client. But oh no, he says, they're a matched set! Him and Sadik!" Braginski laughs derisively.

It's Braginski's fault he's so terrifying that even when he's trying to give something nice Beilschmidt doesn't believe it (neither did Laurinitis, for that matter) and had to rope in a friend so that he has an ally when it all goes south. Braginski should have realised that. Doesn't he know what it looks like when people fear him? Can't he tell yet that Eduard no longer does?

"And so I have to go double check on the Turk to see that he hasn't got anything I don't want you catching. _I_ say what goes into this body, do you understand? _I_ say so!"

A-ha. So that's what Laurinitis meant. Braginski took him to Dr Bonnefoy, to try and get information on _Sadik_ , not Lovino. Laurinitis could conceivably have accepted Braginski muscling his way into getting Sadik's records checked, because it's his own health, since everyone knows it's his own bitch. Only after Sadik had fucked him, though.

And then, probably, Braginski tried to press his luck and ask about Lovino. In such a case, there was only rumour. Suspicion. Nothing the bitch had admitted. Of course Bonnefoy would have clamped up silent, unless the bitch confirmed that Lovino had had him. Another reason why Laurinitis cares about their connection.

Could what Eduard said to Laurinitis count as confirmation?

"And right now, that's you," guesses Eduard.

"It's always me! It's only ever me!" Braginski pushes in deep on both ends, his cock to the root and his fingers plunge into Eduard's mouth, sliding down his tongue. "You think I want your ass after you've given it away to that Italian bitch? You're dirty! Unclean! That's why _I_ have to use condoms now, because you fucked some warty Sicilian sausage!"

"I never fucked him!" Eduard pants around Braginski's fingers.

"You think I can trust what you say? After you let him ride you so hard you could probably taste the salami?"

"Would I lie to you?" asks Eduard with a leer he's certain Braginski can feel on his lips. "I feel almost like I should have, given what fuss you're putting up! He must have a pretty golden prick! Have you had a taste?"

Braginski chuckles. "Ah, a sense of humour at last! It won't save you."

"But really," Eduard sneers, "if his cock's so good, what would I need you for, hmm?"

Braginski's fingers leave his lips and grab him by the shoulder. He handles Eduard harshly, pushing him from his side to his stomach on the bed, all while still inside him. His next thrust is rough. With the force of his hips alone, it feels like he skids Eduard on the bed, rubbing him the full length into the mattress. Including, of course, Eduard's erection, which hasn't interpreted any of this as pain or fear and jolts to life at the friction of the sheets. Eduard turns his face to the right to gasp his breaths.

"I told Gilbert to shut up about it, until I said he could do so much as _squeak_ , but obviously Sadik didn't get the message and tells Vargas! He says that he told him about what they did to you only because that mafia prick likes information about you," says Braginski angrily. "Why's that? Why can't he just take that great beak of his out of my business?"

_He likes information about you_. If that don't just warm the cockles of Eduard's heart. "Does he, now," he sighs, as his body sings with pleasure strong enough to float away on.

"Sadik says he got two cigarettes and a pair of socks out of it, to tell that piece of swine that he poked you!"

"What makes you angrier," sneers Eduard breathily, "the fact that he told Vargas, or the fact that he told him _before he told you?_ "

Enraged, Braginski growls and mounts him, his knees digging into the back of Eduard's thighs, as he shoves himself inside. Eduard gasps and shakes apart in his arms, pinned as he is. His lungs can't seem to draw enough breath and he feels giddy and dizzy and his groin pulses where it's forced against the mattress by two people's body weights. "Don't you think for one second you're getting away with any of this!" hisses Braginski. "They're all mine in the end!"

"And once they're yours, you get bored," says Eduard.

"And if they're never mine, do you think I let anybody else have them? Do you think I sit there pining? heartsore? No! Edik, I shall _destroy_ you if I can't have you!" And that's Eduard gone. He spills into his sheets, Braginski's knees keeping his thighs spread and Braginski's hard cock in his ass.

Braginski hasn't missed any of it. His thrusts become softer, but deeper, as Eduard, skewered and immobile, twists and twitches to get away. All in vain. Braginski's cock pistons in relentlessly, his knees keep Eduard still, and Eduard, super-sensitive, can do nothing but take it until he finishes and pray that it's soon.

"Do you know what I think," says Braginski. He leans down and kisses Eduard's neck, then down to his shoulder. He keeps pace, fucking Eduard. "It is a very funny little game you play. I like games. I'm - _mmph_ \- interested to see how you intend to play it when every guard is watching you. So let's see where it is you go at work. _Oh?_ You didn't think they noticed? _Aah_ \- but they did! Let's see what you do all day when I'm not around. It's - hah - for your own good. For - ha- _aah_ \- do you think you'll be a good little pet with many masters?"

"You don't want a good little pet," moans Eduard.

"You can't begin to know what I want," murmurs Braginski. He sinks his teeth into Eduard's flesh, thrusts in once more and from the sound of his muffled grunt, comes at last.

Oh, can't he? Keep in mind that this was all under the cover of darkness. There's nobody to be showing off for. Braginski isn't pretending as he normally does. There's no audience besides Eduard. He's not even speaking in a language that many understand, if anybody were awake. That makes it clearer to the truth of what he wants, like that time it was just him and Braginski and he bought his books with a blowjob.

Here's what he knows of what kind of sex Braginski likes: he's lazy, and if he can get away with not having to move a lot and get an easy orgasm out of it, he will. This probably carries over into these games. If Eduard is too difficult, he'll lose interest (he must play by Braginski's rules, as Braginski says, or Braginski will destroy him). If he's too easy, he'll lose interest (he doesn't want a good little pet, that's certain). Eduard will have to walk a fine line.

The times that Braginski has come and it _has_ been relatively athletic, it's because he's won over someone. Laurinitis. Berwald. Willem. Sometimes Eduard himself. He's victorious. He's claiming a prize. He has to be seen to win something. He likes winning. Victory manifests itself in a triumphant show, and he'll put out the effort for that, but not for the sake of a simple orgasm.

Eduard doesn't like the chances of what manifests when Braginski loses. He suspects he's a pretty sore loser. But if he wins, then _Eduard_ loses.

Doesn't he?

On second thought... it might not be quite so binary. There might be more at stake.

"I'm sure this has given you much to think about," says Braginski. He yawns in Eduard's ear. "Goodnight, Edik." He pulls out, and Eduard hears something drop wetly to the floor. A condom? It must be. He truly thinks Eduard's slept with Lovino. And then Braginski shifts and settles in next to Eduard, on his side, one large hand resting possessively on Eduard's back.

Eduard's heart leaps. He quenches his delight; at this rate, he'll be sleeping in the wet spot. That's nothing to be happy about. "You've got your own bed," he reminds.

"What did I tell you, so long ago? This one is mine, too! I merely let you use it. Well, tonight I want to use it."

"Hmm," says Eduard. "Does that mean I get the top bunk, then?"

Braginski chuckles. "Don't be silly. You're never on top, in any sense of the word." He nuzzles closer, shifting his nose against Eduard's neck. "Now go to sleep, pet." The thumb of the hand on Eduard's upper back, between his shoulderblades and underneath his undershirts, brushes back and forth against Eduard's bare skin.

_He does like this_ , realises Eduard, with a thudding heartbeat. He loves these games. This closeness feels like Eduard's reward, except that Braginski doesn't realise that Eduard craves it from him (as much as Eduard would love to lie to himself that he does at all, he knows the truth), and so can't be offering it as reward. Braginski is just touching Eduard for his own sake - because the games both pull him in and bring him off.

Eduard could give him this. Eduard is happy to give him this.

Eduard _wants_ to give him this.

He waits until Braginski is firmly asleep, his breathing regular, snoring softly in Eduard's ear, his arm wrapped around Eduard's chest, before he begins to think.

He'll need something good, after today's proceedings. He has to show that he isn't just every old regular bitch, growing tired of Braginski's shenanigans and trying to lash out. No, he has to show that this is more calculated than some mere outcry.

And it has to be good. The better it is, the more Braginski will realise that it's not a case of a simple crackdown. That Eduard is worthy. That whether Braginski likes it or not, Eduard is a force to be reckoned with.

But he can't be too good. Or Braginski will give up and throw him to the wolves. Then, Sadik and Gilbert will be the least of Eduard's problems.

He could speak to Lovino, see what he says. He should tell him what the guard knows. What Braginski must know. What they'll surely find out from the doctor soon. But Lovino can protect himself from all that, can't he? Of course he can. That's why part of what he was doing with Laurinitis was throwing Eduard under the bus. Some ally.

Lovino. Hah. Lovino, who told him to fuck a guard, who told the guard he wants nothing to do with Eduard, that the bitch might be handsy and clingy but that Lovino cares so little he would have to take out a shit loan in order to give one about Eduard.

What a lie.

...Is it?

Lovino could have apologised in advance about the things he said about Eduard to Laurinitis. But didn't. He could have. He apologised for the implication that Eduard would have to fuck a guard. Doesn't he think Eduard is smart enough to have seen why he did it? He already knows Eduard is smart enough to glean the reason why to most of his other actions.

Or he's not sorry.

_It'd be easier to just fuck right off, wouldn't it._ Sure. So why doesn't he?

He mustn't be able to. So he lashes out at Eduard for his own inability to let go. That's clear enough. But why can't he? It's more than simply because Eduard is just so nice. Hell, Lovino doesn't even fuck him. What could he be getting out of this?

It comes to him in a flash. _And I don't know about you, but I would love to have something against Braginski._

Lovino can't let go... because Braginski won't let him. Because Braginski has something against him.

Whether he likes it or not, that makes him Braginski's man.

Behind him, Braginski snores on, oblivious to Eduard's sudden terror.

Eduard's been wrong this entire time.

He's been thinking that this is him and Lovino against Braginski, but it isn't. It's him against Braginski _against Lovino_ , and Lovino is ally with him only because it's currently advantageous. Only because Braginski's iron control chafes. Maybe because Lovino has already betrayed him to Braginski and he sticks around out of guilt.

Without Lovino's assistance, Eduard would be vulnerable, Eduard would have nobody against the rest of the wing if Braginski threw him to them. He's got Willem, and Berwald. And _that's it_. That's not enough! That's barely enough to withstand a physical attack from Braginski. And if Willem and Berwald are busy protecting him against Braginski, who is left to protect Eduard from the rest of the inmates?

What's more, if Lovino is willing to share information with him, what stops him from sharing certain information with Braginski? When it's no longer advantageous to ally with Eduard, what will stop him then? Braginski might not be able to threaten to pull that information out, but he could offer Lovino something instead.

It cannot be allowed that Braginski realises what Lovino is to Eduard! How dependent Eduard has become! Because Braginski will do anything to surpass Eduard's advantage. Sweeten the deal for Lovino to ally with Braginski. And if that happens, Eduard loses.

And it could happen. All Laurinitis has to do is talk. Confirm Braginski's suspicion of a connection. Braginski would double his efforts on Lovino, and what could Eduard do against what Braginski could offer him? Why, Braginski could offer Lovino anything he wanted, except maybe for -

There is one thing. A lone, dangerous, risky idea. Braginski can't offer him _that_.

But Eduard could. He could, if he played his cards right. If the timing is right.

Eduard begins to breathe again.

And that would also solve the underlying question, wouldn't it? The jail must respect him enough to leave him alone. And the guards must be made wary of him. They all must understand that he's a threat.

There's one thing that he could do to fix that. To fix all of that. And it's something Lovino would want. Something that Lovino - if Eduard's suspicions are correct - is uniquely in a position to accept. And it's risky. It might not work. And if it didn't work, he needs to fix it so that the fault is all on him, because if it failed and Lovino shared the blame - well! There'd be no more ally for him anymore.

But if successful, it would take Lovino out of the picture. Both his disadvantages - his reluctant providing to Braginski - and his advantages - his willing providing to Eduard. It would solve everything, but who would Eduard trade with?

Eduard does not sleep this night. He thinks, and as he thinks he brushes the tips of his fingers back and forth on Braginski's arm, where it is belted around Eduard's chest, pinning him so close that Braginski's breath skates across the nape of his neck. He strokes Braginski's skin and maps out a plan.


	15. Chapter 15

The moment lockdown is over, he finds Antonio.  
  
Antonio is alone in a side hall to the cafeteria, smoking a cigarette that Eduard recognises as Lovino's, given him by Eduard. Antonio grins. "Don't know where he is, _chocho_."  
  
"I'm not looking for him," says Eduard. "I want to talk to you. I have a proposition for you."  
  
Antonio snorts. "Can't never get enough dick, can you." He takes a last drag, then throws the cigarette to the ground and stamps it out with the toe of his shoe.  
  
"A business proposition," he clarifies. "And it's a bit of a long story, so, here." He holds out another cigarette. Antonio's eyes light up and he takes the cigarette readily. Eduard smiles.  
  
He winds up talking to Antonio longer than he would have liked. Antonio doesn't seem to catch subtle implications too well, which is both good and bad, so Eduard explains it step by step. But in the end he seems to be on board, for what he understands of the plan, from what Eduard has elected to divulge.  
  
Moreover, Antonio confesses that he was the one who overheard the information exchange between Asparuhov and Laurinitis, that they had caught on to Eduard and Lovino's interactions, and that he's the one who passed that along to Lovino. He seems proud of himself for this. "People think I don't think, 'cause I don't read their moods," he explains. "Well, fuck! I'm not a fuckin' psychologist, but it doesn't make me dumb."  
  
Eduard narrows his eyes. "If you were dumb, you'd tell people exactly how smart you are."  
  
A slow smile spreads across Antonio's face. " _There_ you go," he says approvingly.  
  
Nevertheless, their conversation makes Eduard late for his appointment with Dr Bonnefoy. He'll have to compensate.  
  
Or, on second thought - so he thinks, as he walks in the doctor's office and reads the time from the clock on the wall - this could play even more into his hands.  
  
Dr Bonnefoy is quiet this time, perhaps because Willem isn't there to make sarcastic asides. He inquires about Eduard's state and makes a few notes on his clipboard. He has Eduard undress and then inspects Eduard's body. He takes what he needs from it - a blood sample and two swabs, one from his mouth and the other from his anus - and makes a few more notes on his clipboard.  
  
Eduard says nothing unless asked a direct question, until a half hour has elapsed and the doctor starts to gather the samples. "You don't have to give Braginski anything," Eduard says quietly, breaking their silence. "Don't give him anything he doesn't need to know."  
  
The doctor continues with his clipboard as though he hasn't heard. Eduard is patient. "A man like that? All are afraid of him in here," Dr Bonnefoy says at last.  
  
"That might change," replies Eduard.  
  
"Then you're suicidal," says the doctor. "You mustn't start something you cannot win." He caps a final bottle and adds, "Wait one moment, I will return." He leaves the room and Eduard, who sits patiently on the examination table, until the door shuts closed behind the doctor and Eduard is alone.  
  
This is his chance. He gets to his feet, keeping them tucked under the paper, so as not to make imprints, and from there steps onto the counter, upon the other wall. Here he has enough height to reach the security camera. There is no off-switch, but he spots the string of numbers on the back and memorises them.  
  
Then he makes his way to the wall clock, which is hanging by a nail. He removes it and moves the clock 45 minutes ahead, then replaces it as it was and gets back to the examination table. He sits back down on the same spot on the paper just as the doctor comes back in.  
  
Dr Bonnefoy spots the time on the clock and, without saying anything, jots it passively down on the form. Eduard exhales in relief. The doctor writes a few more things. "You're finished," he murmurs, and holds the door open for Eduard.  
  
Time to go to work.  


* * *

Lovino is where Antonio said he'd be, talking to another of their gang, the one that looks like Antonio except for the long ponytail and a mole underneath one eye. "I need to talk to you in private," says Eduard.

Both Lovino and his friend look at Eduard like he's an insect. "I'm busy," says Lovino tersely.

"You're busy, with me," says Eduard.

"Bitch like you don't tell people to move," growls Lovino's gang friend.

Eduard squares his shoulders, well-aware that this fellow has at least thirty pounds of muscle on him. He doesn't let his anxiety show. He keeps his eye contact steady. "I do today," he says. He's quite proud; his voice doesn't quaver anymore.

A standoff of about ten full seconds takes place until Lovino shrugs. "Fuckin' whatever. I'll see you back later," he tells his friend, and to Eduard he says angrily, "C'mon."

Lovino leads them down another hall. There's nobody around but the cameras are on. It doesn't deter Lovino from manhandling Eduard by the collar of his jumpsuit and throwing him into the wall. "The _fuck_ is your problem?" he growls, pressed up close in Eduard's face. "I said to lie low an' not bug me for a week! D'you want Ivan to figure this out? Huh? Is that your fuckin' game, playin' a role with me to get him jealous? Don't fuckin' lie to me, I seen how you look at him, how you act around him, ohh, you fuckin' _want that shit_ in the sickest of ways, but I am not interested in a role in jealous lover theatre!"

"Do you want to get out of here?" says Eduard. Lovino doesn't say anything. "I can get you out of jail in thirty minutes."

Lovino lets him go but the look of incredulity on his face is priceless. "What the _fuck?_ " he says.

"I guess you could always wait for parole. But _can_ you? Your file's a little thick to hope for getting out on parole with any years of your life left. You've already languished here long enough. You hate this place. You've been here long enough to get on - and off - heroin. Long enough that despite your counts of first-degree murder, you're in the work program, which means you must've gotten in on good behaviour, which takes some time to convince them of. Berwald's been here about three years, and his behaviour's better than yours! So how long have you done, Lovino? Five years? Ten?"

Lovino gives him a sour look. "Do you understand me?" begs Eduard. "You could leave this place in the next thirty minutes."

"How?" asks Lovino flatly, unconvinced.

"Today's the day they service the vending machine," he explains. "Today's also the day they receive the weekly food order. They're down one on patrol since Łukasiewicz is still out sick. We have ourselves a quick costume change, then we'll meet the vending machine man as his two escorts. We get the keys from him." Upon reflection, Eduard adds, "We'll have to take him out. It could be a little violent." Luckily, Lovino is probably used to that sort of thing.

"They'll see that on the cameras," argues Lovino. "They'll see all of it on the cameras."

"I have access to the camera room. I'll show you. It's the same place we'll get the guard uniforms. While you get changed, I'll disable the right camera feeds."

Lovino frowns. "Then what?"

"Then you leave the same way the vending machine servicer got in. With his car and his ID. If the weekly food delivery arrives earlier, they'll be paying more attention to that. If they sound a lockdown alarm, they'll have to figure out what to do about the delivery truck when it arrives. Either way, it ties them up with more time for you to drive off."

But Lovino is still shaking his head. "Someone, somewhere will see us. This place is crawling with guards -"

"And that's why I told Antonio to cause a distraction in the rec yard, which borrows more guards," finishes Eduard. "Admittedly, I didn't tell him what for. Just that it's for you. A surprise I planned, for you."

There is a moment of silence as Lovino processes it all.

"Assuming you _want_ my surprise," Eduard adds.

"You are fucking insane," he says at last.

"But it could work," says Eduard.

"Sure, _could_. And if it doesn't we'll be in so much shit."

"It's easily enough arranged that it's my fault," says Eduard. "Who was with the guards yesterday and could've nicked the keys? That's on record. Who has the ability to hack their shitty security? It sure as hell isn't you. Antonio will name-drop me in a heartbeat before he'd give you up." Eduard narrows his eyes and gets into Lovino's personal space before he says, a low whisper of a threat, "No, _you'll_ be in so much shit if you stick around, but for different reasons."

Lovino's face and voice harden. "And what're those," he asks.

"I know you won't back down from this," says Eduard. "Because it's what you want. But also because as much as I need you for information about Braginski, I need you gone more. Because I can't trust you, can I? To control Braginski, I'd need you on my side. And you aren't. It's hard to trust you, to find you faithful, when you've been running around on me, ferreting information to Braginski."

"Fuck you," says Lovino, frozen. His eyes betray nothing but anger. "I've told him nothing."

 _Of all the people_ , thinks Eduard, watching Lovino from his hard eyes to his lying mouth, _I had really hoped you wouldn't be among the dishonest._

"But you did, once," he says instead. "And since you've done it before, Braginski will expect it to be doable again in the future." Eduard smiles, a thin nasty leer. "Still! The choice is yours. Let your sentence be meted out properly, or leave today. Your family, being what they are, has the means to hide an escaped criminal. So that isn't the issue. But they don't have the means to break you out, do they?"

Whether Lovino's been slipping Braginski information recently or not, it's patently true that he did it once, and his downcast face admits it. "How'd you find out?" he asks.

Eduard smiles. "Someone must have told Braginski about Berwald. It had to have been someone who valued the keeping of secrets, so that nixes anybody like Gil or Sadik, who are too loose-lipped and uncontrollable when they're high. Couldn't've been Willem, he hates Braginski. Couldn't've been Kris, he isn't close enough to Berwald."

"Oh, an' I am?" says Lovino.

"You don't _seem_ close," Eduard corrects him. Lovino's eyes narrow.

"The thing about Berwald is," Eduard continues, "if he doesn't trust you, he'll tell you a story with lies. Because he wants to know who'll perpetuate it. So he tags it with falsehoods. Braginski said the army story happened when he was major. _So did you._ But he wasn't a major when he did what he did. Connect the dots. And since Berwald wouldn't have told Braginski anything directly, who does that leave?"

Berwald must also have elaborated to Lovino that it was for a friend - not his son, or his godson. If he had told this truth, then Lovino would have passed it along to Braginski, and Braginski would not have leapt to the conclusion he did about Berwald's sexuality. True though it is.

Unless Lovino also provided information about that.

And where would he have gotten such information?

The story - the lie - the half-truth - about Berwald and Kris comes back to him. How Lovino knew to exploit Berwald - by giving him something real. How, so long ago, Lovino had suggested it to Eduard: _make him fall in love with you_. Just like he suggested that Laurinitis fuck him.

Lovino sours. "And how do you know the Ox told you the truth? That he wasn't lying to you, too?"

"I don't," says Eduard. "In fact, he has. I know that he has because he's admitted to it. But that's not relevant. What is, is the trail. Someone told Braginski about Berwald. That someone was you."

Eduard folds his arms over his chest. "He also said that he and Kris had fooled around. He also said that there was a lie there. It wasn't Kris he fooled around with, was it?"

Lovino does not look at him now, and his posture is stiff. "We never fooled around," he admits at last.

"But he was more open with you than anybody else. He's told nobody a thing about his past except for you - _you_ gave that to Braginski - and I think it's on your advice that you told Berwald not to tell anybody else. And moreover, it's on your advice that I even proceeded with Berwald. Pretty manipulative. You even know he's into men. I won't bother asking the question how you'd know something so intimate. You don't just deal in secrets and information, do you? At this rate, you're halfway to Braginski status."

"I'm nothing like him," Lovino swears.

"No? According to your case file you've got more counts of first-degree murder than he does."

"How did you -?"

"Laurinitis talks a lot. More than you do, it seems. And that's saying something, because you talked up quite the storm with him."

Lovino shakes his head. "Look, that was strategy."

"I know, I know." Eduard holds up his hands in peace. "I caught that part. As I suspect you knew I would, because Braginski doesn't seem to think I'm too swift, but by now, you do. You more than do." Lovino's pretty mouth smiles, and Eduard's heart sinks a little deeper. "We would have worked well together, you and I. If you could trust me a little more."

"I trusted you as much as I could afford to," says Lovino quietly.

"But not enough for someone in my position," replies Eduard. "What I can't figure out is, if you respect Berwald so much - and you do appear to - what made you talk to Braginski anyway? You sold that secret off to him. What'd he offer you in exchange? It couldn't've been material goods, because you can get those much more easily. It couldn't've been me, because -" Eduard smiles, shy and self-deprecating. "Because you could've gotten _that_ any time you wanted, for free. So I think what you would've gotten out of it, was Braginski off your back. Because you _hate_ Braginski on your back. You give him what he wants, he goes away. Nice and easy, right?"

"Sure," says Lovino.

"But not forever. And you're bright enough to know that. He's like a blackmailer. You give in once, he'll stick around and wait for more. Maybe not so passively. Maybe he'll get impatient, and threaten for more."

"And by that time, I might've had more," adds Lovino. He takes a step closer to Eduard, fully in his personal space, nose to nose. From this distance Eduard can feel the heat radiating off him.

" _I_ would've given you more, you mean," says Eduard. Lovino says nothing. Eduard smiles. "I would have," he admits. "If I were a little dumber. I would have."

"I wouldn't've betrayed you," says Lovino. "Not unless it were absolutely necessary."

"That's not quite true," Eduard argues. "You wouldn't've betrayed me, unless I stopped being useful to you. When the advantage I provide you is gone - so are you."

Again, Lovino says nothing.

"And that's why it works better for me that you're gone," says Eduard. "Because I want to trust you." He looks into Lovino's beautiful eyes and says, "I wanted _so badly_ to trust you. And you knew that, and you capitalised on it. What I wouldn't've given for something like a confidante, something like a friend, someone I could trust! You played your part well."

"I'm not sorry," mutters Lovino. "It's nothing you yourself wouldn't've done."

Eduard shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not." He looks at the clock. "Look, we're running out of time. Do you want to leave this place, or not?"

"This can't possibly work so easy," says Lovino. "And if we're caught..."

"Guess that means you have to trust me," says Eduard.

Lovino takes in a deep breath, and nods.  


* * *

There are no guards around. The only two they see are on their way running outside, and these are easy to avoid. They return to the hallway where Laurinitis and Asparuhov led Eduard and Braginski yesterday, and retrace the footsteps. In moments, Eduard is unlocking the door to G-5.

Eduard sets himself the task of the computers. "There's the uniforms," he says, pointing to the open cupboard. Lovino hops to it.

First, he deletes the feed from the previous thirty minutes' worth of video from Dr Bonnefoy's office. The backups now show him entering, being examined, and then they stop halfway through, and there's no more feed until his next appointment.

Then Eduard checks those files. He watches Vash enter the doctor's office. A regular checkup of some sort. He narrows his eyes and deletes these files too. Like Eduard, Vash is blond and green-eyed. Nothing personal. Just convenient.

He then scans through the cameras - there are three hundred in the facility - until he finds the one he needs that's trained on the vending machine. This one, he takes offline. Are there any by the loading bay? One. He takes this offline. The ones in-between? _Oh hell_ , he thinks, _let's take this whole subsection of the wing down and call it a day._ What about the front gate, can he access that?

It's _laughable_ how easy this is -

"Uh, problem," says Lovino.

Figures. "What?"

"There's only one spare here," he says. He holds up the single shirt and pants, folded over one arm, and the hat in his other.

There is, however, a baton. "There," says Eduard. "You take that. I have a suspicion you're better with it than I might be." So Eduard dresses up as the guard, pulling the clothes on over his jumpsuit. The bright orange shows through the uniform shirt, so he pulls Laurinitis' jacket from the coatrack. The hat is last, and he pulls the brim down low.

"Hide down the hall to the vending machine," says Eduard. "I'll fetch the technician. When we come by..."

"Got it," says Lovino darkly. He conceals the baton in his jumpsuit. Then he leaves G-5 and disappears down the hall.

That leaves the keys. Eduard tosses them back on the desk, exactly where he found them yesterday when Laurinitis fucked him.

He thinks about it. Against his better judgement he scrawls a heart on the nearest piece of paper, and sets the keys inside.

Eduard heads for the hallways to the loading bay. He's been here only once before, the day he arrived off the truck they drove him and the other prisoners in. He suspects he remembers where the guards are, and removes his glasses and tucks them in Laurinitis' jacket pocket. He walks with a slouch, keeping his head down. His eyes look more heavy-lidded this way and he seems shorter.

"Thought you were out sick, Łukasiewicz," says one of the guards at the loading bay entrance.

Eduard coughs to play up the role. He's lucky Łukasiewicz's voice is about as low as his. He's also lucky he's heard him speak before. "Yeah, well," he says. "Need to pay my rent, like, _somehow_. Guy for the machine here yet?"

Unbelievably, they buy it.

The fellow to service the vending machine is a Mr Karpusi. It says so on the monogrammed patch on the upper arm of his coat. He seems a friendly sort. Shame he might lose his job over this.

Karpusi yawns as he hefts a plastic tub out of the car and loads it onto a dolly. "Say, where's the second guard?" he asks.

"Waiting for us," Eduard replies. "He's got kind of a _thing_ to take care of in the yard first."

"Yeah. The guys sure get randy here, don't they," says Karpusi. He lifts a shoulder - business as usual, says his facial expression - and pushes the dolly with its big tub of snacks forward past Eduard.

"Totally," Eduard drawls, with an unfriendly sneer Karpusi doesn't see.

Karpusi isn't much of a talker, and he knows where he's going so Eduard passively falls into formation beside him. Five minutes later they're there. "Where's your guard?" says Karpusi.

Eduard stands in front of Karpusi, and so he has a perfect view as Lovino sneaks out of the shadows from the hall, lifts the baton over his head, and brings it down with a solid _crack_ across the back of Karpusi's. Karpusi goes down boneless like a sack of flour.

"You missed your chance to say something cool, like 'right behind you'," Eduard notes.

"You watch too many movies." Lovino lifts Karpusi up underneath the arms and drags him off into the shadows a few feet away, and then is remarkably professional about taking Karpusi's clothing. Eduard, far less so. He catches a blurry glimpse of Lovino, stripped to the undershirt, and his face warms. It doesn't stop him watching.

Lovino reemerges a moment later, his jumpsuit draped over Karpusi like a blanket. "Haven't got a lot of time," he says. "Head wound like that, they wake up in about ten."

"More than we need," says Eduard. He inspects Lovino a second, then reaches out to run his fingers through Lovino's hair. Lovino says nothing, but his expression says 'what the fuck'. _What the fuck is right_ , thinks Eduard. "Karpusi has messier hair," he says defensively.

"You could've just said," replies Lovino.

But there's no more time to talk. They hear footsteps. Heavy boots, running. A second to listen reveals they're headed their way. "Quick," says Eduard. "Act natural. Keys, in his pocket."

The third key Lovino tries opens the cage covering the vending machine door. By the time the guards come speeding through, the machine is open, and he has a shelf's worth of snacks in his hand from the tub and is calmly placing them in the slots of the coils. He's very good at acting natural. Lovino even puts them in the right spots behind older product. Eduard, meanwhile, is leaned up against the wall, looking casual by doing nothing, because if he moves, it'll be plain to see how hard he's shaking.

Four guards race straight past them and down the hall to the rec yard. Eduard, blind without his glasses, recognises none of them. But none of them recognise him, either.

Lovino continues placidly until they no longer hear the sound of the boots. "'Kay," he says, and slams the vending machine door closed. He shoves the last snack in Eduard's hands - Eduard, too shocked, stuffs it in his jacket pocket without thinking - and upends the plastic tub into the shadows. The contents spill over Karpusi, who groans softly. Lovino sets the empty plastic tub back on the dolly. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"Follow me," says Eduard.

In a blurry haze, he leads them back to the loading bay doors. The doors are already open for the weekly food order, and the fuzzy guard-shaped blobs hardly look up, too busy. _This won't ever happen again_ , thinks Eduard. Not after today.

They get to Karpusi's van. The car keys are in Karpusi's pocket, his pass tucked into the driver's side sunshade. "God bless lazy people," says Lovino, sitting in the driver's seat with the car door open, a leg dangling out. "Time to go." He looks at Eduard. "C'mon, hop in."

"About that," says Eduard. "I'm not going with you."

"What? Why the hell not?"

"What would I do, live a life hidden? What would await a fugitive like me?" he argues. "I just got into this place. They haven't forgotten about me, and they certainly haven't forgotten about the money I stole. If I spring free, they'll find me and catch me too easily."

Lovino snorts. "You think I wouldn't provide for you, you're fucking nuts! You break me out, I owe you my life!"

"There's a few things waiting for me on the other side." Katya? Timo? They belonged to the old Eduard. The money he stole, on the other hand... He isn't doing ten years for nothing! He stashed that money, he's keeping that money.

"An' I have the means to help you get them, fugitive or not," offers Lovino. "You could come with me. You wouldn't have to deal with them, in there. We could protect you."

"Oh, really? From top government agents in the cybercrime division?"

"I - well." Lovino looks lost for words. "Okay. That'd be little tough. But we could use a guy like you in the family. Saw what you were doing to the machines. You got skills we like."

"You don't think I'd be more trouble than I'm worth? I shouldn't be in this facility for fraud alone. This is a place for people who commit heavier crimes than that. The guy I stole from must really hate me to have pulled those strings. Having me around would jeopardise whatever system your 'family' has in place. The government gets on your case because of me, you can kiss whatever safety net of understanding they give you away. Besides. If I serve the sentence, I walk out a free man, not one with ties. I don't think I'd be a very good fugitive. I barely make a good prisoner."

"I'd rather not have outstanding debts. I'll owe you big for this," Lovino reminds. "And in the family that counts for something."

"Alright. Then consider that there's thermal cameras on the gates. More sophisticated than the main system. I couldn't bring those down. They'll want to see only one guy leaving in this van, or you're looking at a car chase."

Eduard smiles. "And I'd miss the look on Braginski's face when he realises I've bested him," he adds. "Since he doesn't know how to share power, he needs to know that I'm usurping it."

"You're fucking nuts," says Lovino. "It's not worth it."

"Maybe not to you," says Eduard coolly. He'll control Braginski, manipulate him the way he's been controlling and manipulating Eduard for months. Take back some of what he's had to give.

Revenge is more than worth it.

"Fine," says Lovino at last. "But think about it. I better go."

"That you had." Eduard watches Lovino put the key in the ignition, and something within him feels torn. "Hey - listen," he blurts awkwardly. "Thanks for everything."

"Me? I oughta be thanking you!" Lovino pauses. He turns the key - the van engine roars - and then he steps down from the van. He grabs Eduard by the collar of Laurinitis' guard uniform shirt and drags him close, wild-eyed, begging, "Look, Eduard, don't _ever_ trust anyone else like you trusted me."

After the shock wears off, he stammers, "I - didn't -"

"But you did," Lovino says. "Even more than you thought you did. And I had a hand in that, I could've - I built up a lot of bridges between us so that I could use 'em, if I needed to. I could've used you. If I'd gone to Braginski, I could've ruined you. I wouldn't've hesitated."

Eduard is quiet a moment. Suppose this is something of an apology. "Then why didn't you?" he asks.

"Like you said. I give him something that good, he wants there to be more. So I sell off everybody I know, one by one, to, what, to satisfy him? No. And in the end, you made it more profitable for me to back you, not him."

"Sure," says Eduard, "because I'm breaking you out."

"Not just that," insists Lovino. "You had more to offer. Don't - don't let anybody do this to you. Don't give anybody else the power you gave me, okay? If you take no other advice, take that. You can't rely on anybody in here."

Eduard nods. Lovino's right. The best Eduard can do is play them all. Pit them against each other. But he has no allies. No confidantes. If he wants to be a match for Braginski then he has to operate like Braginski.

_If he wants to be a match for Braginski then he has to operate like Braginski._

Exactly.

It's all so clear.

"I do owe you though," says Lovino softly. "I'll send you something. Books, right? You like books."

"I still have your Eco," Eduard says.

"Finish 'em. Give 'em back when you're done, look me up. Vargas family's not hard to find, so long as you're not a cop, or a fed tryin' to get me to inform." His eyes drop down to Eduard's lips - the only reason Eduard can see such details when he's this blind is because Lovino is so close he's all Eduard can see.

And then Lovino leans in closer and kisses him on the mouth. He hesitates, then kisses him again. A bit more passionately. Eduard suspects the infamous kiss of death isn't supposed to be open-mouthed or with tongue, but maybe the heart-pounding, breath-stealing sense of _promise_ is appropriate.

"Thank you," Lovino whispers against his lips. Then he releases a partially-stunned Eduard, hops into the driver's seat, and peals off out of the loading bay.  


* * *

 

Eduard leaves the loading bay and returns to the halls near the vending machine, where the cameras are hopefully still out. There, he pulls his glasses and his pilfered snack (chips, now that he can see) from the jacket pocket, before he stashes the entirety of the uniform in a recycling bin. It gives Laurinitis three days to retrieve his nice jacket before this bin is routinely collected, by Eduard's careful count. That's assuming they keep the same schedule for everything.

If Lovino really was as dangerous as his file says - and Eduard suspects he is - then they'll probably -

An announcement over the loudspeaker interrupts his thoughts. " _All inmates are required to return to their cells. Headcount in fifteen minutes. Inmates not present will be punished. This is not a drill. All inmates are required -_ "

They'll probably have an emergency lockdown. He heads back for his wing. Shame about the chips. Salt and vinegar. Not his favourite, but he'll eat them anyway.

On his way, he spots no less than twelve guards. One of them recognises him.

"You!" cries Laurinitis. He has Karpusi - who has dressed himself in Lovino's orange - by the armpits, half holding him up, half dragging him around. Karpusi looks really out of it.

"Me?" asks Eduard innocently. He munches another chip. He thinks about it, then holds out the bag to Laurinitis. "Chip?"

Laurinitis ignores the bag resolutely. " _You_ did this," he growls.

He's found the keys then. And the heart. "I don't know what you're talking about," lies Eduard.

Laurinitis shakes Karpusi awake again. "Is this the guy?" he asks. "You said, blond hair, green eyes."

Karpusi looks up and blinks blearily. "No, it was Łukasiewicz. He met me at the loading bay, then we were walking, and then... I really don't remember much more."

 _God bless head wounds_ , thinks Eduard.

"It couldn't've been Łukasiewicz," reminds Laurinitis. "He didn't sign in. He's been home sick all day. He has a _doctor's note_ , for god's sake."

"But it was him!" insists Karpusi. "I know what Łukasiewicz looks like, okay. I dunno who this guy is. Some prisoner, I guess. He's wearing orange."

"So're you," says Eduard, his mouth full of chip.

"'Cause someone took my clothes!"

"Wasn't me," says Eduard, and that's not a lie.

The doctor finally arrives on the scene behind them. "Who is this?" Bonnefoy asks Laurinitis. "I have never seen him before."

"He's our vending machine tech," explains Laurinitis. "And _someone_ gave him a nasty bump on the head." He glares at Eduard.

"Again, wasn't me," Eduard replies. Again, not a lie. "But I love the third degree that's going on here."

"Then maybe you can explain where you were today?" snaps Laurinitis.

"I had an appointment with him," says Eduard, gesturing to the doctor, "and then I left. Got some chips. Heard the announcement. On my way back to my cell."

" _You_ take _him_ ," Laurinitis sneers, shoving Karpusi into Bonnefoy's arms. To Eduard, he says, "You're coming with me."

Eduard finishes the bag of chips and tosses it in the trash. "Alright, but don't make me late for headcount."

Laurinitis drags him through the hallway until he finds a private enough alcove. There, he shoves Eduard up against the wall and looms over him. It's easy to do, because while Eduard is technically taller than Laurinitis, it is by no more than an inch and Laurinitis is the one with the baton and the pistol. "Vargas could not have done this on his own. _You_ did this. What I want to know is why."

Eduard shrugs. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play dumb. Whose prints will I find on those keys, hmm? Whose prints on the keyboard? I'm willing to bet that Vargas can't doctor tapes. But you can, can't you, smartass? After all, what are you here for?"

"If I listened to you," says Eduard greasily, "then I should think that what I'm here for is to placate your little Russian madman so you can rest easy at night. Are you also going to find my prints on your desk where you fucked me? Your come on the carpet, where it spilled out my mouth? Pretty sure I wasn't supposed to be in that office at all, much less with my pants down and your cock up my ass. Pretty sure you don't want anybody to know about all that. And that's why you took me where there weren't any videocameras. So you could have me in private and no one would know."

Laurinitis' eyes go wide with simultaneous terror and anger. It's a funny look for him. "You don't dare. This isn't a game you play."

Eduard nears his face to Laurinitis'. "It is now. Now that you've made me this. I want you to remember this, Toris. You helped make Ivan a problem, and now you've made me one." He makes sure Laurinitis watches him as he flits his eyes to Laurinitis' pretty mouth and licks his lips. "But we don't have to be problems to one another. Do we? We could together be a problem to a different party. Couldn't we?"

"You're a fool," says Laurinitis softly.

"Give it a few days, and see what we think. I think you'll find that your Braginski issues could be better resolved." He smiles. "Now. Take me back to my cell, so I can be a good boy for you handsome guardsmen."

Laurinitis flushes red and hauls him away by the arm. When they reach his cell, Laurinitis hauls him in without a single word and speeds off.

It's not long before the rest of the wing starts to trickle in. "Hey," calls a rough voice. Eduard looks up. It's Sadik, whose cell is on the opposite end of the hall.

"Keep walking," says Eduard coldly.

"They say Vargas is loose," says Sadik. "That so?"

Eduard shrugs. "If he were, why do you think I'd know anything about it?"

" _You_ know why," Sadik replies. "'Cause he likes you, that's why."

"No such thing," says Eduard, shaking his head. "We traded. I gave him cigarettes in exchange for stuff. Deodorant. Books, sometimes. Mostly lube. That's all."

"Uh-huh," says Sadik. He's not buying it. "Well, talk says you were with him last. Latin gang's figured it out. Vargas musta given you something real good for what you did for him."

Eduard meets Sadik's eyes and says nothing.

After a moment, Sadik says quietly, "We were wrong about you." Then he walks on by.

Following him a few minutes later is Gilbert, and Gilbert - as he passes Eduard's cell - gives Eduard an appraising, pensive look. He isn't smiling for once.

"What?" barks Eduard.

Gilbert flinches. Then he half-grins and gives Eduard a lazy salute as he disappears from view into his own cell.

Willem and Berwald are next to join him and trickle in with the rest of the wing. They ignore him. Berwald because it's characteristically so, and Willem because that's how Willem's begun to treat him in public, after Braginski's intervention.

Willem and Berwald ignore him, but the rest of the men don't. As they pass by, some smile - not cruelly anymore, but dazzled and silently awed. The ponytailed fellow Lovino was speaking to has a nasty bruise on the side of his face that has the mole and a black eye on the other side. He passes Eduard's cell and hisses, "Worth it. Impressive."

"Told you," says Kris behind him. He winks.

This is the respect he wanted, from all but one man.

From him, he'll have to take it. Eduard can't wait.  


* * *

When the fifteen minutes is up and the announcement stops playing over the loudspeaker, Asparuhov begins to close the doors.

At their cell, he immediately notices the lack of Braginski and pulls out his radio. "Toris, have you got him?" Asparuhov says in Russian. He talks like a brick wall.

" _I don't_ ," says the reply over the radio. Laurinitis' accent is far better than Asparuhov's. " _Where is he?_ "

"Not here. Alright, meet me in G-5, we'll find him on the cameras."

" _N-no, ah, w-we can't - buh, because - it, it's better if -_ "

" _Don't know what you two loons are on about_ ," says a third voice over Asparuhov's airwaves, snotty and English, " _but for those of us who like to speak the language of the land we're in, I've a Mister Braginski here. Have you perhaps lost one?_ "

"Kirkland," says Asparuhov. He sighs and his posture slouches in relief. "Thanks. Bring him in."

Asparuhov waits by the bars.

"Always screwing up your headcount, isn't he," says Eduard in Russian. "Wonder where he was this time."

"Yeah, me too," says Asparuhov. Then he remembers he's talking to the bitch. He barks nastily, "Be quiet," and bangs on the bars.

The noise grabs Willem's attention. He catches Eduard's eye from across the cell. As Asparuhov's not looking, Eduard winks at him and grins. Willem frowns, and folds his arms over his chest. He sits up as straight as he can in the headspace between his bunk and Berwald's.

Berwald, above, puts down his book to scrutinise him. He picks it up a second later; the cautious glances he throws Eduard tell him that he's on alert, monitoring the situation.

But nothing more is said between them as Braginski returns, led into their cell by a short fellow with dirty blond hair, the brim of his cap pulled down low.

"Where'd you find him?" asks Asparuhov.

"Hanging around solitary," says Kirkland. "S'where we had to put Carriedo after the hijinks in the yard." He claps Asparuhov on the shoulder, friendly. "Let's go. Emergency meeting in the east wing conference room. Everyone else in for the night?"

"Yeah," Asparuhov replies. Then he reconsiders. "Well, except -"

"I know," Kirkland interrupts. "Except him. It wasn't _your_ watch, though. You've nothing to fear -" but Kirkland and Asparuhov walk off too fast and mutter too quietly for Eduard to catch anything else.

Braginski looks pissed. "You know, I have heard the most disturbing rumours," he begins icily. From his body language, he isn't talking to any one person, but Eduard knows these words are for him.

"I'm sure you have," says Eduard, getting to his feet. "Don't know how much stock you want to put into what Antonio says."

"Pah! You talk as if you know anything about him," says Braginski. "You two have never spoken!"

"I'm just thinking of you!" says Eduard innocently. "I know how you like to get the truth out of people."

Braginski's ire raises its ugly head. "Don't toy with me," he says, as he advances step by step on Eduard, menacing and deadly. "You don't know what you're playing with."

"Maybe _you_ don't know what you're playing with," Eduard says, "or isn't Vargas gone?"

This stops Braginski in his tracks. "Then you do admit it!" he says.

"I admit nothing," replies Eduard, "so you'll have to wonder. Did I do it? and how? wouldn't you love to know! How it must grate you to have him gone. Useful source for you, wasn't he? Useful source against me!"

Braginski yells his reply. "What need have I for a source on you?" he bellows. "Don't you think I can get whatever I want out of you through you yourself?"

Eduard shakes his head. Braginski advances for him and he sidesteps him easily. Braginski's not trying to hit him. Not yet. "I know you can't," Eduard continues. "And _you_ know you can't. That's why you had his ear handy, for information that I know that you want. About me." His eyes flit up to Berwald and Willem's bunk. "About certain people. You like to control this place, keep tabs on it. And that's why you're upset, because what I did with Vargas was outside your control. You can't even prove any of it!"

"I'm sure Toris can," says Braginski.

"But he won't," snaps Eduard, "or I'll tell people what he did to me."

"What _I_ did to you. _I_ am the one who let him do that to you. _I_ organised that!" Braginski shouts.

"No, you took advantage of that. And then I took the advantage back. You don't like it when that happens, do you?" The rest he says in Russian. These most damning words are only for Braginski. So that nobody can know. "If Laurinitis tries to move against me for letting Lovino free, people will find out about the fact that he was the one who let me in that office with such sensitive equipment. And that's more important than the fact that he fucked me."

He thinks. "Maybe I'll fuck him again," he says. "He wasn't half bad."

Braginski's face contorts in its rage. It's a beautiful kind of ugly. " _I_ wasn't half bad!" he cries, thrusting a finger into his own chest, " _I_ was the one whose cock made you come!"

In Russian, Eduard says, "But _you_ don't have such lovely toys for me to play with! Security systems. A spare uniform. What's a nice fat cock against all of that, hm? For the whore turned _escape risk!_ No, worse than an escape risk, because I'm relatively tame, but I might let loose other prisoners who are not, who are far more dangerous." He grins. "Not you, though. You're mine."

"I don't see why you let Vargas go," Braginski says. "He seemed to like you. He was the only one who was on your side!"

"Not so. I have other allies," argues Eduard. "That nonsense with the drugs? An easy trail! That story about a major in an army?" He is purposely vague about details but both Berwald and Willem perk up. "Maybe he did tell me the truth. Maybe he didn't. You'd have to beat me pretty hard to find out, and you'll tire first before I give that up." Eduard declares coolly, "Guess some of us simply have more stamina than others."

Braginski snaps. He swings, a wide blow. Eduard dodges it. He roars and swings again. Eduard darts under his arms. A little less easily this time. Braginski grabs him by the collar and drags him back, but no sooner has he done this than Willem has gotten to his feet and straightened to his full height, waiting for his cue by the bunk. Eduard is let go.

"If you wouldn't mind," says Eduard, re-adjusting his clothing. Willem cracks his knuckles and advances.

Braginski sneers as Willem puts himself between the two of them. It's clear he still doesn't see Willem as much of a threat. His next punch is thrown higher, at Willem's jaw.

Willem steps back to let the punch swing through, a hair's breadth past his cheekbone. He grabs Braginski by the forearm and yanks him forward, brings his other arm up and elbows Braginski in the nose.

Braginski screams in pain, can't seem to help the reflexive action to put his hands on his face, but his arms up, holding his bleeding nose, leaves his ribcage open, and Willem wallops him there fiercely, once from the left side, once from the right. Braginski doubles over, and there Willem trips him and shoves him the rest of the way down.

"Not bad," says Berwald.

Willem tries to move in but Braginski shoots his leg up, kicking out. It's not well-aimed. His anger makes him unfocussed. But it's enough that Willem doesn't get any closer.

Braginski spins around to his hands and knees. Willem kicks him in the side, where he was hit. The pain doesn't seem to distract him anymore, though, and he absorbs the hit as he struggles to get up.

"Little help?" asks Willem.

Berwald puts the book down at last and vaults off the top bunk, landing neatly in a crouch beside Braginski's shoulder before he springs up again, towering over Braginski.

"Don't," Berwald tells him icily.

Braginski looks from Willem to Berwald back to Willem again and gives in. He pulls himself into a sitting position, breathing heavily. "We didn't have enough exercise in the yard, I see!" he wheezes, grinning. He wipes the blood off his face and flicks it away. He seems to think this is a friendly, funny joke. "It is _his_ fault, you know, that rec time was cut short -"

"Shaddup an' stay down," barks Berwald, and backhands him across the face with enough force that Braginski's full upper body twists in the direction of the blow. Willem shoves him backwards with a kick to Braginski's chest and Braginski slams so hard onto the ground he's winded. Berwald sets a foot on the centre of his chest to keep him there.

It's safe now. Eduard draws nearer and, before Braginski can kick out, sits atop him, straddling him at the waist. "I seem to recall you said I'd never be on top," Eduard sneers, "but look where we are now."

Braginski makes a concerted effort struggling against Berwald's and Willem's combined strength and Eduard's body weight. But without breaking a sweat they keep him pinned to the floor, his arms spread open with all their weight - Berwald stands, and Willem is knelt upon Braginski's inside elbow, a bony kneecap in his triceps, how that must hurt! So Eduard rides it out as Braginski tries - and fails - to buck him off, until Braginski tires himself out.

This is _fun_.

"You know, you were wrong about Lovino," Eduard continues. He unbuttons his jumpsuit slowly. "He was more on his own side than mine, wasn't he? You managed to get some information out of him about at least one person, so I couldn't trust him. Neither could you! You should thank me! I did us both a favour. He could have played us against each other, and I'd rather play against you myself."

"Oh ho!" says Braginski. "So my little pawn wants to be queen, does he?"

Eduard sits back. He gestures to Berwald and Willem. "I already was the queen. Now I'm Player Two."

"T-That's not how it works!" Braginski explodes.

"It is from now on," he replies smoothly.

"That's not playing fair! Those aren't the rules!"

"Your rules?"

"The only rules are _my_ rules," Braginski yells.

Eduard changes the topic abruptly. "Do you know what I think?"

"I don't give four flying fucks what you think," says Braginski.

He tells him anyway. "I think you're angry because you had a plan for all this, for me, the same plan you always have for all your little bitches, and the second it deviated from that, you got angry. The more it grew different, the angrier you got." Eduard reaches over and undoes the top button at Braginski's neck. There's nothing Braginski can do about it; his hands are bound and out of reach. Braginski tries to snap at Eduard with his jaws like the dog he is but his anger makes him far too slow and easy for Eduard to dodge.

"And so you sat and you stewed and you plotted because you're angry and you want revenge. So you gave me to Gil and Sadik after you stole what Willem held for them in trust. You knew what they'd do to me to pay Willem's debt. The debt that you made. You wanted them to. They had _your_ permission." Eduard slips a few more buttons free from their holes. "That had nothing to do with Willem. Willem was a convenient excuse. That was for me. That was a sign, saying, 'Eduard, don't you fuck with me again because this is what I do to people who fuck with me. This is my game and these are my rules.' Isn't that it?"

Willem's expression darkens. Braginski smirks at him. Willem does nothing, for now.

"And it was the same with your ploy against Berwald. Get me to do your dirty work, ferret out what you think are other people's weaknesses so I'll buy my freedom from you with them? Didn't work for Lovino. And now he's gone. Won't work for me!"

Eduard has reached his belt. He unclips the plastic side release of the buckle with a satisfying click.

"Try and get me to turn someone else out, will you," Eduard drawls. Berwald, above them, is livid. "You want someone turned out, you'd better do your own leg work."

"You're a pathetic bitch, I don't even listen to you," Braginski lies.

"But you _are_ listening! And you'll continue to listen. Because that's what you do, you wanted to be the one sitting here gloating about how everything went according to plan! But it didn't and now _I'm_ gloating! And now that you know that, you want to know where it went wrong, so that next time you'll do something different. But do you know what? There is no next time."

"Fuck you!" says Braginski. "I do whatever I like! You think you can control what I do with my time here? I want thirty bitches like you, _I get them!_ "

Eduard shook his head. Now that Braginski's jumpsuit has him exposed, Eduard leans forward and strokes a finger past his waist, over his underwear. "But you don't, Vanya," he says, and Braginski flinches. "There's _no one_ like me, and you know it. Besides, that's not my plan. No, my plan is this -"

"Fuck your plans," Braginski says with a sulk. "I'm going to give you to the worst assholes in here and they're going to fuck you for days, so hard you'll bleed for a year. Just like every other bitch I've ever done it to. How do you like that, Mister Thinks-he's-so-special? Hmm?"

"Those men?" Eduard asks. He twists around enough that it's clear he is talking to the prisoners outside in the other cells, listening whether they want to or not. He's not stupid enough to turn his back to Braginski, and so he keeps his hand settled on Braginski's cock, protectively, like he owns it, as a reminder that he has Braginski literally by the balls.

He looks out into the other cells, where the other prisoners are dead silent. Some pretend not to be paying attention, but most are riveted to the scene they make in their cell.

"No," says Eduard, "those men won't touch me, because those men know I'm smart. Those men know that I can leave here anytime I like. That makes me useful."

"You're useful as nothing but a slutty hole!" Braginski yells. He bucks up once again under Eduard, his cock shifting in Eduard's cupped palm, as he shouts out to the wing from the concrete: "Do any of you hear me? That's _all_ he's good for!"

None of the men reply. More of them look away.

Eduard smiles beatifically down at his prisoner. "If I'm the one who broke him free, then I guess that means you're not the only one who sets rules in here, are you?"

Braginski roars, and thrashes. Berwald is quicker and drops to his knees, and like Willem drives a knee into the tender, weaker muscles in Braginski's inner arm. Eduard leans back, and gets his hands on Braginski's thighs. He digs his fingers in tightly until Braginski stops wriggling.

It's a good thing he has Willem and Berwald here. Eduard knows he lacks the strength to pin Braginski down on his own. But he might have something else instead.

He has a theory. His theory is that Braginski likes this. He likes power, he likes control, yes, but even that is boring. If he hasn't already gotten bored with fucking Eduard, then he will, because there's only so many ways you can truly fuck a person and Braginski's probably starting to think that his job here is done. Surely they'll get more people in, in a few months, and maybe Laurinitis will choose him the nicest or the prettiest and shift him in Eduard's place.

And what to do with Eduard? Turn him to the wolves! Why not? Those people who wanted a slice of him, let them have it. Braginski's had his fill, he doesn't care. Give the carcass to the pack. Maybe he can even make some money off him.

But maybe Braginski might find Eduard a little more interesting if he catches onto Braginski's games. Maybe Eduard might have some moves of his own, and maybe Braginski might find this an appealing prospect. An attractive one. An arousing one.

And what is Eduard sitting down upon now, as Braginski calms, but Braginski's hard cock.

Triumph. A thrill races through him and before he realises it his hands have roamed their way up past the hem of Braginski's undershirts to his smooth, warm skin, hiding the iron muscle he knows is beneath.

"I knew it," says Eduard breathily. "See, you like it too, don't you? I told you you liked fighting me. Can you imagine how much better it will be between us like this?" Eduard makes eye contact with Willem and then nods in the direction of his bed - a silent order to retrieve what he needs. Then he rolls his hips as Willem stands, frotting himself in a filthy grind against Braginski's cock to distract him from having his arm free.

Not like having it free makes it useable. Braginski shifts it around in attempt to regain some territory, but from the way it flops around, it's gone completely numb under Willem's weight. Willem returns wordlessly to Braginski's arm and hands Eduard his bottle of lube. And there go Braginski's chances.

Eduard removes his own jumpsuit at his leisure. First the buttons, then one sleeve and then the next. He does get up off Braginski to take off his shoes and pull them off at least one leg, but Braginski starts to thrash again under Berwald and Willem's hold. Eduard remains calm, confident they have the situation under control for at least ten seconds. He pulls the jumpsuit off, then his underwear, and then folds both and places them on his bed before he returns, nude from the waist down except his socks, to Braginski's lap.

Part of Eduard wonders whether Braginski's denials are in fact truth and Eduard is taking something he hasn't the right to. (Part of him _doesn't care._ )

But the other part says no, it can't be so. Because in Braginski's eyes there is a spark of a challenge, and for all his hatred of Eduard, he does want that. He wants a challenge. He wants it from Eduard.

That doesn't mean he's happy about this. _Good_ , thinks Eduard. He proceeds with his fingers, working himself open, knelt above Braginski, whose cock pops up absurdly out of his pulled-down underwear.

When Eduard doesn't bother with a condom, Braginski starts to thrash again. "You still think I fucked him, don't you," tuts Eduard. And then he takes him inside with one go, sinking down to the hilt.

"He seemed to like you!" wheezes Braginski, red-faced. He glares up at Berwald. "I know what it looks like when he likes someone," he adds. "Fucking dumb to break him out."

"Oh, I don't know if he liked me," Eduard replies. He shifts up on Braginski's cock before he sinks back down again. It's good, but the power's better, and Eduard's so drunk on this that the carnal pleasure is practically secondary. He's still hard, though, and idly he begins to jack himself off with the hand he used to finger himself with, slick and wet. "I think he was a little bit your man too. I think you're a little angry you've lost an informant and resource of your very own. Maybe I don't like you having pets that aren't me! Like your little pet guards."

"They don't like you, bitch. You make their lives hard. You have nothing to offer them," grunts Braginski.

"We both know that's not so. Ah ah -" for Braginski is about to speak again - "do you want him to lose his job? One more of your men disappear! How much control would you have then?"

Braginski scowls.

"Don't you think it's even a little interesting how I fooled you?" Eduard asks. "How I figured you out? Aren't you curious?" Braginski grimaces and clamps his lips shut. But his cock throbs inside Eduard as he works it with his hips and that answers the question better than words could: _oh yes_. He's even angrier that Eduard knows this, that Eduard can read him so simply.

"Of course," says Eduard. One particularly good thrust has his heart racing and his blood pumping hot in his veins. He rearranges his legs to better angle himself, and then every thrust thereafter makes him shiver, and he begins to ride Braginski in earnest, taking what he wants. "Because what you don't realise is, your little games here, they deviated much, much earlier than you think, because I caught on quicker than you expected."

"You don't know anything!" Braginski moans.

"Unfortunately, I'm not a stupid man," Eduard continues. "I think I could figure out anything you could throw at me. Go on, Ivan. Go on and try to play me again. Manipulate me." He breathily admits, "Maybe I like it - aah - maybe I want you to, because maybe I think it's fun figuring out where you go wrong, where are your missteps."

"You'll fuck it up first," says Braginski, with the petulance of a child.

" _Ha-ah_ , I bet you I don't," Eduard taunts silkily. "Watch me watch you, and we'll play rings around each other, hmm? This will be our agreement. Our little deal. What do you say?"

It's the only way, because Braginski - Eduard already knows it, it's written on the big man's face - is a very sore loser. If he thinks he's lost, he'll destroy Eduard utterly and it won't matter how many people Eduard has on his side. He'll just find a knife and slaughter him.

Eduard doesn't want that. What he would rather is to preserve the status quo until his time is up, or they find some reason to transfer him to another institution, where he doesn't have to whore himself out for protection because nobody there will know he fucked enough to make a career of it, because his tattoos and his no-longer-inexistent musculature and his no-nonsense, don't-fucking-talk-to-me attitude will keep any idiot at bay. No, Eduard has learnt by now what to do, how to act, the moment you set foot in the joint.

What Braginski wanted was a game - turn the neophyte jailbird into the inside slut, ruin his life, break him in fifty ways, hurt him, stain him, make him regret his innocence, and then throw him out. The same game he's played before. And when Eduard didn't give him the easy fun he wanted, Braginski got angry, because he thinks he lost.

But Eduard can prove - has proven - that he's interesting enough to keep around. Braginski will reconsider.

He has no choice but to reconsider! Because Braginski is too much of a sociopath to pass up the good sporting fun of manipulation and Eduard offers him the equivalent of real-life chess, which properly played, could span quite some time.

The terms are clear: Eduard can never win. Braginski can never lose.

But Eduard is too smart to lose! And unfortunately for Braginski, Eduard is also too smart to be whored out for three dollars a blowjob. And if Braginski never notices Eduard winning then he's happy and placated and a happy and placated Braginski is willing to protect him from others if Eduard should ever need it.

And maybe Braginski would like to sleep with someone like that, so better that he stay clean, isn't it so? And maybe Braginski won't mind sharing with Willem or Berwald when it's clear how much more fixated Eduard is with him - because look at the lengths Eduard has gone to, to ensure that the status quo is maintained!

It should be obvious how much more fixated Eduard is on Braginski.

Eduard is giddy. His breath is shallow, he can't breathe for moaning. He's so excited he's trembling, he's positive his pupils are so dilated that his eyes alone show Braginski clearly how aroused he is by this. It goes so far beyond arousal he can hardly contain himself. _This must be what Clarice saw in Dr Lecter_ , Eduard thinks, this is every obsessive love gone mad wrong he's ever seen, because to him, this horrible crazy man has never looked sexier in his life than he does right now, his angry face inches from his own and unwavering, his eyes narrowed, their gazes locked together and the outside world has vanished. Braginski is a rabid animal ready to snap at any moment, his tension taut. Eduard can feel himself approach climax as his cock throbs, hot in his hand.

 _Don't make deals with the devil_ , he remembers Lovino warning.

Ah, but this time around, he knows what he's doing. This is a different kind of deal, a different sort of devil.

And which one of them is the devil, anyway?

Eduard comes hard, tensing on Braginski inside him, and he releases all over Braginski's chest, spilling on top of his undershirts.

"For every inch you claim me, you're mine also," he gloats through his grin, "I want you to know that."

"I don't belong to anyone," growls Braginski, and Eduard rolls and twists his hips and clenches upon Braginski's cock. He watches Braginski's facial features contort wildly as he comes inside Eduard's ass.

"Say it again," coos Eduard. "See if you believe yourself."

"I'll kill you," says Braginski weakly. He collapses back and exhales a sigh.

But on the corner of his lips is the faintest smile.

Eduard hears a chuckle, then a low growl of laughter and it takes a moment for him to realise it is his own. Or Braginski's? Or both? He can't tell! It's a sick sound, a mangling-together of love and lust and power, manipulated and deformed, hobbling through the wing's hallways, tapping the cell bars and raving at the echoes; it lingers at the threshold of sanity before it gleefully plunges forth. Eduard sits back on his throne of Braginski himself and laughs great deep belly-laughs so hard his eyes tear up, as Braginski rumbles his own mirth below him, the two of them cackling together, almost deranged.

He'll kill him, he says. He'll kill him!

It's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard!

Eduard's still chuckling, wiping his eyes as he says, "Ah - that's a good one!" Both Berwald and Willem are watching him - Berwald with narrowed eyes, Willem with an incredulous expression - and at their worried faces, he erupts into giggles all over again.

At last the laughter subsides - his and Braginski's - and Eduard disengages their bodies and lifts himself off Braginski. "We both know you won't do anything like that," says Eduard. He makes his way over to the toilet to clean himself off. "Even if you tried, you won't succeed. But I do invite you to try. If nothing else, it'll take our minds off this place. I like it when I've something to think about." God knows there's nothing else to do in here.

"I'll just find something else to threaten you with," decides Braginski.

He says this as he lays on the floor, with his orange jumpsuit skin slit wide open from throat to belly, his underwear stained with lube, cock laying flaccid on his belly and covered in his own come and Eduard's. Eduard snorts. _Sure_ he will. "Better get creative," Eduard retorts. "Passing me around to the men won't work anymore."

Braginski struggles to get up, but is still pinned by Willem and Berwald. Eduard watches him struggle for a few minutes more while he takes his time redressing. Fully-clothed, he says at last, "Alright, let him up."

They do as he commands. Berwald glares, and stalks off towards his bunk without another word, but Willem gets one last punch in across Braginski's jaw before crawling into bed.

"In the end, I shall be the one to destroy you," Braginski - Ivan - promises. He gets to his feet and tucks himself back in his underwear, but leaves the jumpsuit open.

If it were not for his clothing, Eduard is convinced that the half-hearted twitch in renewed interest that his cock gives at these words would give him away. "We'll see about that," he says instead, smiling sweetly, and folds himself into his bunk. Although he can't wait to see what Ivan will come up with. He can't wait to beat him at it. Now, the game can really begin.

Eduard bends forward, watching Ivan over the rim of his glasses, staring into his eyes. "You won't underestimate me again, will you?"

Ivan smirks and gives him the _figa_ , and then brings his fist to the centre of his chest and taps it there in the centre, over his heart. He climbs the ladder to his own bunk.

This is _choice_. This, at last, at long last. His volition! _His will!_

He could have fled with Lovino. He could be gone now. It might have worked. But there has grown a darker part of him that craves attending to. Maybe it has always been here. Maybe it was seeded and nursed. Either way, in that moment, the ties to the him-who-had-been, are irreparably severed, the low bleating of that man dying away.

No, Eduard is exactly where someone like him should be: in the centre of a pack, in the possession of teeth.

And tonight, he sleeps peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some symbolism in the gestures Ivan gives at the end: the fig sign (figa (фига), also called kukish (кукиш), dulya (дуля) or shish (шиш)) means loosely 'nothing' in response to a request. So like, someone could say 'give me all your money' and you give them this sign and/or say aloud 'dulyu tebya' or 'figu tebya', it basically is like a middle finger/fuck you equivalent with the added connotation of 'you're not getting what you asked for'. Since Eduard hasn't asked for a specific item that Ivan can deny, it's more like Ivan is just saying 'fuck you, I'm not gonna do what you ask, I do what I want'.
> 
> However, Ivan then proceeds to hit himself in the chest with his fist (Бить себя кулаком в грудь) - this expresses loyalty. Since his chest is also bared at this point (the jumpsuit's still open) it has an added connotation of honesty/sincerity (Рвать на груди рубаху).
> 
> So basically, what's happening here is Ivan is - with some reluctance - declaring his (actual) loyalty, but in a nonverbal way that nobody else will understand since only Eduard in this scene is decently competent in Russian or Russian culture. He's acknowledging only to Eduard that Eduard wins at least this round. But he's also being a little shit.


End file.
